


After The War

by lovelyroses



Series: Max Vandenburg [2]
Category: The Book Thief - Markus Zusak
Genre: Angst, F/M, Falling In Love, Family, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slice of Life, Survivor Guilt, lots of fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2020-08-11 04:20:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 22,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20147521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelyroses/pseuds/lovelyroses
Summary: His heart thudded in his chest. "Emma, I.....""Yes?""I love you."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, the first part of the story takes place in a displaced-persons camp from 1946 to 1948. I did some research on the DP camps, but please let me know if there's some stuff I'm missing.

It was January 1946 when Max Vandenburg saw her. This, too, was a moment that stood out when I came to collect his soul. That particular morning, he heard a woman's voice, singing something. Her voice was so soft that he couldn't make out the words, but he could hear the melody, and it was beautiful. Then he turned around, to see a woman sitting by herself, singing under her breath. He walked closer to her so he could hear just what it was she was singing, until he stopped just a few feet in front of her, listening to her sing. "_Neues bringt jeder Tag, doch was auch kommen mag, halte dich immer bereit. Du musst entscheiden, wie du leben willst, nur darauf kommt es an, und musst du leiden, dann beklag dich nicht, du änderst nichts dran. So oder so ist das Leben..." _He realized he recognized the song. It was sort of an old one, from a film. _Love, Death and the Devil. _She had a lovely voice, too. When she was done singing, he just smiled. "You know, you have a nice voice."

Emma Geringer loved to sing. She hadn't done it in years, of course. But now, that bitterly cold morning in January, as she sat by herself, she thought, _Well, why not? Nobody will hear me, anyways. _So she sang one of her favorites, and a fitting choice as well, for the state of her life. _So oder so ist das Leben. _Life can go one way or another. She didn't think anybody had heard her, though, until she heard a man's voice complimenting her singing.

She looked up. He was tall, with dark hair that looked just the slightest bit like feathers. He was wearing a threadbare coat. He had a small smile on his face. She blushed a bit. "Thank you."

He sat down next to her. "What's your name?"

"Emma. What's yours?"

"Max. How long have you been here?"

"A few months." She wasn't sure if she wanted to talk about how she'd gotten there.

After a few minutes of silence, Max spoke. "Don't you think you ought to go inside? You'll freeze."

"I could say the same to you." She pointed to the holes in his coat.

So they both went inside, to their respective living quarters. And they didn't see each other again for a little while after that. Max was still thinking about her. He wanted to get to know her better. How were they alike? How were they different? How had she gotten there? Where was she from originally? But he was afraid to get too close to her, for fear that she would find out what a selfish person he truly was. For putting so many people in danger.

Emma thought about him, too. He seemed friendly. But something about him just struck her as.... uneasy. She had a way of sensing these things about people, and she sensed that he was fearful about something. She also sensed some guilt. Guilt about being alive? If so, then she knew that feeling. Better than anyone, at that.

A few weeks later, they saw each other again. Emma appeared to be speaking with someone, as he wrote something down. Max recognized him as the young man who ran the camp's unofficial newspaper. He couldn't hear what she was saying to him, but he could guess. People often put notices in this newspaper with unaccounted-for family members in the hopes that they'd read it and come find them. When she saw Max and walked over to say hello, he said, "Are you looking for someone?"

She nodded and sighed. "I know it's futile, but..."

"I understand. Who are you trying to find?"

"My husband. And my daughter."

_Oh. I didn't know she was married. Or a mother, for that matter. _"How long have you been married?"

"More than ten years."

"And how old's your daughter?"

"Nine now, almost ten." She smiled, thinking about her lovely daughter. Her smile, her laugh like bells. The way she'd give people pretty things she found, like flowers, buttons, or coins. "Well, what about you, Max? Do you have any children yet?"

He laughed and shook his head. He'd never been sure if he _wanted _children. "No. I'm not even married."

"Well, I guess you ought to make a start on that!" she joked.

They both laughed. But after this moment of lightness, a more serious, troubling thought crossed her mind. "Max, I'm worried."

"About what?"

"What if I find my daughter and she doesn't recognize me? It's been a few years, after all."

Max didn't really know what to say to this. He wasn't a parent, so he didn't think he understood her pain. But God, he couldn't imagine it: coming out from the horrible ordeal such as the one in which everyone here had been living for the past several years, finally finding your own flesh and blood, only for them not to recognize you? He imagined that would hurt very deeply. So he told her, "Don't worry, Emma. I'm sure she'll recognize you. You're her mother, after all."

He'd tried to sound reassuring, but he wasn't sure if the sentiment came out right. Still, though, it clearly worked. She smiled and said, "You're right, Max."

Unfortunately, a month later, Emilia, a young Hungarian girl who also helped run the newspaper, approached her with some sad news. "We just found out about your husband, Jens Geringer. He.... he's dead."

The shock was immediate, as if she'd just been punched in the stomach. "H..how?"

"Well...." She bit her lip and looked down. "He was shot. As an example of what would happen if they acted out. Somebody who saw it told me he writhed for five full minutes until he died. He must have been in a lot of pain."

Emma gasped. _No, no, no. This can't be true._ "Where was he? When did this happen?"

"This was in Drancy. I don't know exactly when, but it was either late July or August 1942." She placed a hand on Emma's shoulder. "I am so, so sorry."

The tears pricked at her eyes, and it was a matter of seconds before she was sobbing uncontrollably. Emilia hugged her. "I know, Emma. I know."

That night, Emma lay in bed, trying not to think about her husband. But after that day's news, he was _all she could think about. _She remembered the night they met, at a little nightclub in Munich. Her friend Rebecca introduced the two. Jens was impeccably dressed, in a crisp new suit. He smiled and tipped his hat, exposing meticulously gelled brown hair. "Nice to meet you, Emma."

"Well," Rebecca said. "I'll leave the two of you alone."

So they talked, for quite a while, actually. Jens was one of the few people who could make her laugh. Then one of her favorite songs came on, and she asked him to dance with her. At first, he declined, saying, "I have two left feet."

"Oh, come on! I can teach you!" And she taught him how to dance. Once he'd gotten the hang of it, he was able to let loose and have some fun, and he was actually pretty good. At the end of the night, she gave him her number, saying, "Call me."

And call her he did, the very next day. The whole thing was very fast. Their first date was a week later, and after six months, they were married. She could see her wedding day very clearly now. The young bride in the elegant white dress her mother had made for her. The groom, young and awkward, in a borrowed tuxedo. The sea of faces in the crowd, friends and family. The kiss they shared. The cheers and shouts of "Mazel tov!" when he stepped on the glass. The assorted friends and relatives laughing, singing, dancing. She could almost feel her sisters' congratulatory hugs. She could almost hear her husband's whispered words to her in their first moments alone together as husband and wife, the same words he spoke to her as they parted for what they didn't know would be the last time: "I've always loved you, Emma."

The nervous young woman in white seemed like a stranger to her. So hopeful, so full of life. She did not know what was to come. _If only I could reach through time and give that poor girl a proper warning. _She remembered the room of smiling faces. And it dawned on her. _Everyone who was in that room is dead. Gone. Forever. Except me, that is. In which case, why? Why me and not them? _She rolled over and sobbed into her pillow.

* * *

It had been little over a week, most of which she'd spent in her bed, too listless to move. After all, everyone she cared about was gone. Well, perhaps not her daughter, but how could she be sure? But tonight, unable to sleep, she managed to get out of her bed and leave her barrack. _To hell with the cold_, she thought. It was clear tonight, and the stars were beautiful. As she walked, she saw the shadow of a man standing outside. In the light of the stars, she saw that it was _Max. _Huh. She hadn't seen _him _in a while.

Max was a bit surprised to see Emma outside. He knew she'd been very distraught after finding out about her husband's death. He hoped she was at least feeling a little better. "Can't sleep?" he asked.

She nodded and gave a dry chuckle. "Can _anybody_?"

Max sighed. Nearly everyone here had nightmares. They both knew it all too well. "Well, how are you feeling, Emma? Any better?"

She shrugged. "I guess."

"Well, if you need anything, you just let me know."

She nodded. "Right now, I'd just like some company."

"Alright." He gave her a sympathetic smile. "That I can give you."

So they stood together, in silence, for the next few minutes. Then Emma broke it. "Did you hear how Jens died?"

"No, I did not."

"So.... we lived in France for a few years, and one day, a police officer comes to our house and tells us, 'You must leave immediately. In two days' time, you will be rounded up.' I was afraid. And I told my husband, 'We should do what he says, this is not good. Here, we can stay with one of my friends.....' But he- ah, he was always trying to find the good in everything- he said, 'Emma, he is only trying to scare us. We'll be fine. Don't worry.' And we argued about it for a bit until, finally, we decided that my mother, my daughter, and I would leave that night and go live with my friend, while he would stay and keep our house safe. And I found out later that he was sent to the Velodrome d'Hiver- it's a cycling arena in Paris- and from there, a camp. Drancy. And.... he was shot. A Nazi shot him." She swallowed hard. "They used him as an _example. _To keep everyone in line. And you know something? Someone who saw it happen said that when he hit the ground, he was writhing and foaming at the mouth. For five _minutes. _Just.... knowing that someone you loved died like that, it's just...." She sighed.

Oh, how badly he wanted to reassure her. But what could he possibly say to make her feel better? He didn't know if it was appropriate, but he asked it anyway. "Do you want a hug?"

She nodded. God, she _needed _one. Just the physical reassurance that someone understood her. So he hugged her. She just couldn't help herself. She cried into his chest. "I'm sorry, this is very inappropriate."

"No, no, it's all right. Go ahead and cry, right here."

Later that evening, she ended up telling him how they met. Suddenly, she remembered holding her daughter in her arms for the first time. She was wrinkly and pink with a mess of brown hair, but she was beautiful. "Maria," she muttered to herself.

"_Bitte_?" asked Max. "Pardon?"

"Maria," she repeated. "That's my little girl's name." She smiled a little. "She used to ask a lot of questions: about how the world worked, what happened to people after they died. She liked to skip. She always thanked the mailman. And every morning, she'd go out to the yard, pick flowers, and give them to our neighbor."

_Awww, _thought Max. _That's adorable. _"She sounds like such a sweet little girl."

Emma laughed. "Yeah." She hadn't intended to say what ended up coming out of her mouth next, but it just slipped out. "She was almost seven when they took her away from me. At her school- she went to a Jewish school, you know- there was going to be a Purim celebration, and I'd made her a costume. Dorothy from _Wizard of Oz._ I was going to surprise her with it. I said, 'I have a special surprise for my Maria. But she will not have it until she is ready.' And two days before the Purim celebration, we got...... discovered. When we were on the train, we heard talk of families being split up, and she got really scared. I remember she said, 'Mama, I want to be with you!' And then she started crying, and I thought, 'Oh, no, what will I tell her?'"

Max thought of his own mother and how she'd tried to make the best of their situation. And he realized how difficult it was to keep something like that from a distraught child. "Well, what _did _you tell her?"

"I said....." She inhaled deeply. "I said we'd see each other soon. And she asked if we'd get home in time for Purim. I told her we would, and that she'd have the prettiest costume of all the girls. And then when the train stopped, I told her not to be afraid and that I loved her."

He nodded. "From what I can tell, you were very patient with her. It's good for a mother to be patient with her child."

And they stood there, looking at the stars. It reminded Max of that glimpse of sky he stole, except this time, the stars didn't burn his eyes. And Emma? She remembered what her father had told her before she went off to boarding school. "When you miss me, just look at the stars, and remember that I'm under the same stars as you are."

She imagined Maria, wherever she was, looking at those same stars, wondering where her mother was. _Don't worry, Maria. We'll see each other soon. And I'm looking at these stars, too. No matter where you go, I'll always be close to you. _

Max looked over at her. Then he realized. She was only wearing a thin cotton nightshift. She would surely freeze out here! "Here, Emma, would you like my jacket? You must be cold."

He offered her his threadbare coat, and she took it, even though, for some reason, she wasn't feeling particularly cold. _Well, _that's _sweet. _"Thank you, Max."

"No problem." He grinned. "Well, I'm going back inside. I think you should, too."

"Well, alright. Good night, Max."

"Good night, Emma."


	2. Chapter 2

Max and Emma made a habit of meeting up at night and talking. Through these late-night talks, they got to know each other better. Max learned that in the fall, Emma would collect leaves and keep them in a special notebook. "Perhaps I'd like to get back to that," she said. And Emma learned about the family Max had lived with for two years, the Hubermanns. They lived in Molching, and had an adopted daughter, Liesel, who, over time, became his friend. Back in October, he'd gone out to find her.

"Did you find her?" she asked. She knew that that particular town had been badly bombed, with the working-class streets bearing the brunt of it. So there was the possibility that this girl was dead.

"Yes."

"Well, that's lucky."

"Yeah, it really is. Apparently, she was the only one on her street to survive."

She nodded. She knew what it felt like, to lose home and family. Speaking of family, she still had to find Maria. Of course she was alive. She had to be alive. But for the most part, she tried to avoid thinking of her family in general because, ever since hearing of her husband's death, just the thought of them was enough to profoundly upset her.

Whenever she was with Max, she felt... calm. Safe. In those moments when they were alone, together, under the stars, everything felt perfect. She loved being with him. But she also noticed that when he looked at her, she'd start to feel giddy. She'd get this nervous feeling in the pit of her stomach, but a good nervous, like how a little girl would feel before going on the Ferris wheel for the first time. _Wait _a minute, she knew this feeling. Knew it like the back of her hand, even if she hadn't felt it in years..... oh, God. 

Meanwhile, Max couldn't help but be fascinated with this woman. Her dry humor. Her hope despite the circumstances- he always wondered how she still had it. The way she tilted her head just slightly when she was listening to someone. With her, he felt like he could tell her anything, because he knew she would understand. For once in a very long time, she wasn't just another person he was burdening. But there was something else mixed in with this fascination, as well. He found himself imagining falling asleep under the stars with her. Holding her to his chest, stroking her hair. He always imagined this in such detail, too, almost feeling the warmth of her body against his, hearing her slow breaths.

One night, though, an unprompted thought came into his head. Of going back to her barrack with her, kissing her slowly, and proceeding to make passionate (but gentle) love to her. He felt his crotch stiffen and his face grow warm. _What the hell? _Surely, he didn't like her in _that _way! He tried to rationalize that thought to himself: _I'm just feeling a little raunchy, that's why. That could have been any woman, really._

"Max?"

Snapped out of his thought spiral, he turned to face Emma. "Yes?"

"Are you alright?"

"Yes. Why do you ask?"

"You're very flushed, and.... for a while there, you seemed lost in thought."

"Oh, it's just... the cold. I'm alright, though, Emma."

She nodded. "Well, if you're that cold, I think we should go inside." She turned to leave, then looked over her shoulder and smiled. "Good night, Max."

"Good night, Emma."

Max's mother started to notice his feelings for Emma. Once, she gave him a sly smile and said to him, "Looks like _someone _might have a lady friend."

She used to tease him like that when he was a teenager and there was even the _slightest _hint that he liked a girl. But now he hardly had it in him to roll his eyes. "Mama...."

"I'm just saying."

* * *

Ah, spring. The _ideal _time of year, if you will. The flowers bloom, the snow melts, the weather starts to warm up just a little. Overall, a season of hope. And it was well into this lovely season that there was a wedding.

Two people from Emma's barrack, Helena and Jarek, were to be wed on May 8, 1946. A year to the day of Europe's liberation. Emma was acquainted with both bride and groom. Helena Getzlova was Czech, from Prague, specifically. She was very bright and spoke fluent German and some Hebrew, in addition to her native language. She had been upper-class, like Emma (not that that mattered anymore). Emma thought she was quite beautiful, with her full lips, short black hair, and large eyes like Lillian Gish. She had turned twenty that year, but she was so mature that it was hard to believe she was that young. It was sad, really. How fast she'd had to grow up.

Jarek Abramowicz was about Helena's same age. He came from Sosnowiec, Poland, and his father had been a playwright. He himself had dreamed of being an actor. He'd taught himself from watching rehearsals and performances of his father's plays, and as a child, he would even practice monologues in the _mirror_! Emma could see this young man in a movie. He was very expressive, had a nice voice, and was good-looking. Plus, he still sometimes had a flair for the dramatic. His hair was brown, his eyes blue like the sky.

The bride's dress was made of material that had taken three months' worth of saved cloth coupons to obtain. The groom, meanwhile, wore the best clothes he had, an ill-fitting shirt and trousers he had been issued by the Americans. Still, despite this, they both looked radiant and happy. The wedding drew quite a crowd. After all, it was a way for everyone to take their minds off of their circumstances. It was quite fun. It reminded Emma of her own wedding, and Max of all the weddings he'd gone to over the years. At the reception, because that entire block knew Emma and Max had feelings for each other (his mother had told a new friend of hers, and this new friend liked to gossip), the rest of the wedding party decided to continue their party outside and leave the two of them alone. Figuring now was a good time to say it, Max cleared his throat. "Emma, we need to talk."

Something made Emma's heart beat just a little faster. "Max, I'm really nervous about this and I don't know why."

"Don't be nervous. It's alright. I just have something important to tell you."

"What is it?"

"I've been thinking of ways to say this." He sighed. "I wanted to be friends when we met. You know that. But..... things are different from what I expected."

"Hmmm...." she said. "I'm afraid I'm not following. What do you mean, Max?"

"I know you like me. You know I like you. More than I would like any other girl at this point." He paused, trying to remember what he needed to say. "Most of my life, I've been alone. I learned how to take care of myself at an early age. And I even spent years in hiding, alone. I was like a shadow, almost. And I didn't mind it. I was used to that. But I like the time I spend with you. You've become.... important to me. And I think I've become important to you. But.... what do I have to give you?"

"Oh, don't say...."

"You don't _know_, Emma. I can't offer you anything. I mean, look at me! I haven't had a job in years. I don't have a real home anymore. I've got my own issues. I don't want to burden you. You've got enough to deal with." After a pause, he decided he had to be a little more blunt. "Emma. You don't think I want to kiss you? I'm with you almost every night, and you think it doesn't occur to me to get in your bed with you?"

At the thought of being in bed with him, she blushed and averted her eyes. She'd only done that with one man her entire life, and that was her husband. The idea of Max seeing her undressed.... oh, God.

"I know you're embarrassed, Emma. But I mean it." She looked up. "I do want to do all that and more with you. But it wouldn't be right. You've got your own life and your own problems. You don't need to endure mine, too."

They sat there for a bit, neither of them knowing what to say. "Emma, I'd like to think we've gotten to know each other quite well. But when you're with me, you're not with only me. There are other people I carry with me everywhere I go. People I left behind. Can you imagine what that's like?

She placed her hand on this. "Yes." Then she thought for a bit. Sitting back up, she said, "Not only can I imagine it, I know _exactly _what it's like. Because I live it. Not a day goes by when I'm not thinking about my parents, or my sisters, or my husband, or my daughter. But I just have to remind myself that what happened to them wasn't my fault. I don't know where my daughter _is. _But it's no use thinking about the past, or the future, for that matter.

"See Helena and Jarek? I'll bet they've got their issues, too. Everyone here does. But they're living their lives. Because that's all you can do, really. We just need to go about our lives, in the moment. Tonight is tonight...." She inched closer and put her hand on Max's shoulder. "Tomorrow is tomorrow."

That evening, they had their first kiss. _Wow_, thought Max when they parted. Then he leaned in again, and they started kissing again, but more passionately this time. He let his mouth trail down to her neck, and then started to push her down onto the bed they were sitting on. She began to unbutton his shirt, and he felt the excitement course through him. The scenario he had thought of was about to happen. But wait.... "Wait, stop."

"Why? What's wrong?"

He sighed. "It's just that.... I don't think this is the best time to do this, you know? I mean, sex should just be between two people, when there's no one else present. So why don't we try this when we're _truly _alone?"

Emma knew what he meant. "That sounds reasonable." She sat up and smiled. "We can take it slow. I promise."


	3. Chapter 3

For a while, it was a very innocent, sweet romance they had. It was actually a fairly typical relationship. They kissed, held hands, the like. They both called each other _Schatz_, but if Emma was feeling playful, she would (teasingly) call him _Hengst_, or "stud". Sometimes, at weddings or parties, they would be caught trying to sneak off alone together. It had been a while since either of them had been in a romantic relationship like this, and it was quite blissful. It even helped them to take their minds off of the negative aspects of their lives. Just a little. Sometimes, the guilt would creep in. Guilt for burdening the other. Guilt for surviving when most of their loved ones did not.

Max, at least, knew he felt something else for her, something deeper. When she spoke, he hung on to every word she said. He always wanted to keep her safe, as best he could. He didn't just want to kiss her; he wanted to _know _her. To share his life with her, to be a part of her. He just couldn't find the words to describe this feeling.

However, he didn't have much time to dwell on his own feelings. He and his mother were trying to find what was left of their family. They placed ads in the paper, asked around. So far, they hadn't made much progress. His mother had heard a rumor about his cousin Karl, that he was in Palestine. But it was only a rumor, after all. It wasn't exactly reliable. But Max hoped it was true, and that Karl's two daughters were safe, as well. He remembered the little girls, only eight and nine the last time he'd seen them, and tried to imagine what they looked like as young women.

Emma thought quite a bit about her family, as well. She remembered her mother and sisters and how, when the girls were young, their mother would dress them in matching outfits and they'd parade out of the house, looking simultaneously elegant and awkward. Emma, being the oldest, was expected to set an example for these girls. She was to comport herself properly, which, as was her typical cold, controlled nature, she had little trouble doing. In fact, she quite liked lording her status over the younger ones. But she loved them, even if she hardly admitted it. They were family, after all. Which was why it hurt so much knowing that all three of them were gone forever.

And Maria.... little Maria. She knew, deep down, that the girl was still alive somewhere. But it pained her so, to imagine the poor little girl crying herself to sleep because she thought her mother would never come back for her. _Of course I haven't forgotten about you. I think about you every day. _

If she was so reserved, then why had she let her emotions get the best of her in the past six months? She thought it utterly inappropriate. No, she _must _move on. _Things happen. That's just life. And afterwards, you just have to move on. _So that's what she tried to do. Move on, and put her feelings aside. But as time went on, she noticed she felt something she couldn't simply ignore. She didn't just want to have a little schoolgirl fling with Max. Oh, no, she wanted something deeper. She loved him, and she was willing to put in all the effort it took to love him. But she just needed to know if he would do the same for her....

One evening in mid-October, as the weather was starting to get cold again, they were talking, as usual. Max tried asking her more personal questions as to how she was feeling, but, as had been the case for the last few months, she seemed to dodge his questions. This worried him, because in the early stages of their relationship, he'd thought she was doing so much better and had mostly gotten over the shock of her husband's death. They used to be very open with each other. "Emma," he said. "You haven't been talking a whole lot."

"What do you mean? We've been talking this whole time."

"No, no, I mean.... about how you're feeling. Is.... is there something wrong?"

She was about to tell him, but then she remembered. _Control yourself. _"No. I'm just fine, thank you."

Somewhat put off by her snappish tone, he said, "You know you can tell me anything."

She nodded curtly. "I know. And I'm all right."

"Well, that's good. But how am I to know that if you don't tell me?"

For reasons she didn't know, she was feeling very frustrated with him. "I don't _have _to tell you. And why does it matter, anyway?"

"Because I care about you. And because I...." He couldn't bring himself to admit it, so he simply sighed.

She got up. "Well, I suppose I should go."

As she walked back to her barrack, she was just cursing herself. What had she been thinking? He really did care about her, she knew that much. Not only that, it seemed like he had what it took to love her. Probably the only person besides her (deceased) husband who did, and she just pushed him away! Just then, she heard his voice. "Wait!"

She turned around, anticipating what it was he had to say. "What is it?"

His heart thudded in his chest. "Emma, I...."

"Yes?"

_Now or never, Max, _he thought. "I love you."

_I love you._ Those three words rang in her ears. He loved her. It must have taken him a lot to express that. She walked back towards him and sat with him once again. Placing an arm around him, she said, "Max, I love you, too."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little smut warning here.

Time passed. Emma spoke with Max's mother for the first time. They'd seen each other around, but had never spoken before. Maximiliane Vandenburg took a liking to the woman, actually. She was smart and had a good head on her shoulders. A mother, so she had solid judgment. And besides, Maxime could see how happy they were together. After Emma left, she just looked at Max and smiled. "So? What do you think? Will you marry her?"

Max laughed a little. "Well, I don't know about _that_."

On New Year's Eve, there was a party in Max's barrack. Nobody could get champagne, especially not in these conditions, but they celebrated all the same. Emma reflected on the past year. It hadn't been great, that was for certain. For example, she found out about her husband's death. But it wasn't all bad, either. She'd met someone who not only understood her, but who loved her in a way she hadn't been loved in a long time. Forever, it felt like.

In the final minutes before the year turned, the guests gathered around a small clock. At the last minute, they counted the seconds.

Wow. Max couldn't believe it. The year was going to be over already. And that fast, too. Huh. It certainly is strange how fast time can pass. A lot had changed. He thought back to how he was after leaving Dachau. Frail, ill. He remembered how he felt like he'd pass out if he stood up. Now he was much healthier. Perhaps even back to his usual weight. He remembered finding his mother, and the flood of emotions that washed over him. Joy at knowing that she was alive, shock at the state she was in, sadness at their circumstances, disbelief at just how they both were alive and here, together. The first sentence she could say to him that afternoon was, "You're..... you're so..... _skinny_."

"Oh, Mama, I'll be fine." He smiled. "They're going to help us. We'll get better."

A month earlier, they'd managed to contact Karl and his daughter Heidi in Palestine (except now she went by Chaya, her Hebrew name, apparently). His older daughter Rosa was in England still, living with her host family. She'd refused to come to Palestine, saying her life was in England. Max did the math and guessed that Heidi and Rosa were sixteen and seventeen, respectively. Wow.

Emma remembered leaving a German munitions factory and wandering the streets of a city she didn't know for hours. She didn't know where she was going. She couldn't use landmarks, because the streets looked the same. There seemed to be more rubble than buildings. As the sun started to set, she became scared. Where would she sleep? What would happen to her? Just then, she heard a man's voice call out in English. "Excuse me! Ma'am!"

Not certain if he was addressing her, she just kept walking. But then she heard footsteps and turned around. There were two people. Soldiers. Americans. "Ma'am, where were you just coming from?"

"S-slower, please?"

The man repeated the sentence, slower this time. "The factory. For weapons. I don't remember how it's called."

"Are you going home?"

How should she respond? "It.... My home is in....." Where _was _her home, anyway? Paris? Nuremberg?

One of the soldiers must have seen part of the number poking out from under her sleeve, because he told her to come with him. "There's a place where you can sleep."

It hadn't occurred to her until now, but she'd come so far since then. She was a far cry from that scared, confused woman who wasn't even sure where her home was. In the back of her mind, though, she still was reminded that she no longer had a real home. But at least she could forget.

They both listened as the seconds until 1947 were counted. "Ten.... nine.... eight.... seven...."

A new year was approaching. A time for new beginnings, new opportunity. "Three.... two... one..... happy New Year!"

Shouts and cheers erupted. Max and Emma looked at each other with smiles on their faces. 1947 would be a better year. It had to be.

Later that night, when they were alone, they spoke for a bit. "Isn't it just amazing?" said Emma.

"What is?"

"That we're here. Despite everything. We made it through another year."

He nodded. "Well, yes, it certainly is." He inched closer to her. "And we'll see many more of these."

He leaned in to kiss her, and she came to meet him. Just then, they started kissing more heavily. The feeling that surged through Emma's body was almost electric. It was a feeling she knew quite well. _Oh, God, this is really happening. _

Max slowly moved his hand up her thigh. He'd done this with many other women, but for some reason, this felt.... different. Special, almost. He briefly pulled away to ask her permission.

"Yes," gasped Emma. God, she just wanted him so bad.

And with that, he undressed her. There was a sense of nervous anticipation as he undid each button. Here she was, letting him see her in an exposed and vulnerable state. There was just something so sexy about that.

Emma was shocked at the excitement that flooded through her. She couldn't contain it as she unbuttoned his shirt. She _needed _him, goddamn it. To be skin-to-skin with him, to give in to his kisses. When she got to his belt, he laughed and said, "I can do that myself, Emma."

He finished undressing, then moved on top of her, supporting himself with his hands. He leaned into her, kissing her once again. Her mouth, her neck, her chest, her stomach. Oh, how he wanted her. _All _of her.

The feeling of him kissing her in places she wouldn't let just _anyone _kiss was exhilarating. She was willing to receive him fully. As he was on top of her, she whispered, "I love you."

* * *

The next morning, they woke up, feeling refreshed from the last night's antics. Emma remembered how close she felt to him. It was as if they'd been doing this their whole lives. She hadn't been thinking about anything else. Just this: the way their bodies fit together, him against her, the sensations coursing through her.

Max looked over at her. The previous night, he'd hoped to show this woman the depth of his love for her. And now he was hoping it had registered with her just how incredibly hard he loved her. _You deserve the world, my love._

Over the next week, he realized he had to spend the rest of his life with her. He couldn't imagine being with anyone else. But would she accept? He knew she loved him back, but was it with the same depth? And was she ready to get married?

He spoke with Jarek about it. "How did you know when the right time to propose was?"

Jarek thought about it for a bit. "Well, I think it just came naturally. We knew that we loved each other, and.... if I'm honest with you, Max, sometimes, you just have to seize the moment."

"Hm." He nodded. "I suppose you're right."

So, that night, when he and Emma met up for their usual late-night talk, he decided to say it. "Emma, I want you to know that you're the first woman I've ever loved like this. And I don't think I'll ever stop loving you."

"Oh, Max." She blushed. Was he being serious?

"I mean it, Emma. I want to.... to share my _life _with you. I want to wake up to you every morning, raise children with you, grow old together.... I want all of it. So, Emma Geringer, I know I don't have a fancy ring, but will you make me the happiest man alive and marry me?"

She gasped. She wanted to share her life with him, as well, but this was a big step! Was she really ready for it? Then she remembered. He was one of the few people who knew _her. _Flaws and all, he loved and accepted her as she was. "Max, I... yes."


	5. Chapter 5

Max and Emma Vandenburg were married on September 30, 1947. She made her dress herself. The ladies wore the best dresses they owned. Max found it hard to believe. Getting married for the first time at thirty-one! But he was marrying the love of his life, so it was worth the wait.

Emma was a bit nervous at first. As the wedding party made their way to Max's barrack amidst clapping and singing, she could feel herself shaking a bit from the excitement. God, why did she feel like she was nineteen years old again? _Breathe, Emma._

Max smiled at his new wife as they danced at the reception. His _wife_. Wow. It was so exhilarating, hearing the crowd clap and cheer for them. And as they did the _mezinke tanz _in honor of his mother, he thought his mother looked the happiest he'd seen her in a long while. Why wouldn't she be? She got to see her son get married, see the continuation of their family. 

Their marriage was typical. Calm, quiet, easy. It wasn't perfect, as they both still had their low days (or weeks), but at least they went through it together. Whenever Emma woke up screaming, she'd wake up to Max's reassurances and, more importantly, the soft, understanding look on his face. He _knew. _

One night, Max saw them. The bodies piled up by the toilets, their eyes flung open, as if I'd taken them by surprise. It was as if they were staring right at him. Scared, he tried to step over them. But he found it almost impossible to walk without touching at least one of them, so he frantically kicked one out of the way. Then the thought entered his head: it could just as easily have been him lying on that floor. In fact, it _should _have been him. He deserved to die for what he'd done to his family. Not just to die, but to die alone, miserable, pathetic. Because that's what he was. Miserable and pathetic. It was as if he could feel the weight of his people on him, suffocating him.

Emma shifted away as soon as she felt his foot hit her. She knew he was just having a nightmare and needed to let it pass. But she'd _never _seen anything like it. He was writhing and gasping for breath. "Max....." _I suppose I should wait until he calms down. _

He sat up, but the look in his eyes was still vacant, so she knew he wasn't seeing what she was seeing. "Get off me!"

"Max, it's alright. I'm here. You're alright. It's not real." She knew it would be futile, but it was all she could do to reassure him.

It took a while, but eventually, the room began to materialize, and he saw his (rather distraught) wife. "Oh, God, Emma, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to scare you, I just...."

"Max." She placed a hand on his shoulder. "There's no need to apologize."

Just then, he began to cry, and she rubbed his back. He started to laugh a little through his tears. "God, will we _ever _be normal?"

She sighed. _She _wasn't sure of the answer to this question. "I honestly don't know. But..." She sat up a bit. "I suppose it's like I've been saying. Tonight is tonight, tomorrow is tomorrow. So we have to keep living our lives one day at a time, even if it's hard."

* * *

It was early December when Emma knew she was pregnant. She could just feel it. Women have a way of sensing if something's amiss. Now the next step was telling Max.

The day she realized it, she took a short walk, hands jammed into her coat pockets, and thought about this whole thing. So she was carrying Max's baby. That was exciting! Now they shared something tangible. But then she remembered she'd felt the same way after finding out she was pregnant with Maria, and got a little sad. _I'll bring new life into this world now. We've had more than our fair share of death, but maybe the life inside me will give us some hope. _

That evening, she decided to break the news to her husband. And with a smile she just couldn't contain, she said, "Max. I'm pregnant."

Max felt a flood of emotions upon hearing this. She was pregnant! With his baby! He'd be a father! "Oh, Emma!" He held her, then began to cry.


	6. Chapter 6

The next nine months were quite rocky. Emma loved the idea of a baby, but pregnancy wasn't exactly _pleasant._ She hated feeling dizzy and sick all the time. Still, she reminded herself it would be worth it. And besides, at least she knew what was happening.

Max tried to help, in any way he could. In the first few months, he could barely contain his excitement! He would be a _father_! Emma dryly told him to curb his enthusiasm. "It's going to be a lot of crying, shit, piss, and puke. Are you sure you're ready for that?"

"Well, if that's what being a father is, then yes." He meant it. "And besides, I'm sure it's not _all _bad. You have to admit, babies are adorable."

She smiled. "Yes, but it's not so adorable when the baby's screaming every hour." She remembered Maria and how Jens would have to walk her around outside every night. _Great. Now I'm thinking about them again. _It may not have hurt as much to think of them as it had two years earlier, but goddamn, it still _hurt_. She could feel the tears welling at her eyes, but she quickly blinked them back.

"Emma?"

"Yes?"

"Are you alright?"

"Yes, yes, of course." After a bit, she turned to him and said, "It just occurred to me that perhaps we could.... try and find Maria. I mean, I'm sure she's out there somewhere."

Max nodded. "Perhaps we could ask Emilia and Armin at the newspaper about this. They've been quite good about finding people so far."

So, the next day, Emma sat down with Emilia to ask about this. The younger woman, notepad in hand, sat up straight, her legs crossed. "Maria Geringer....." she murmured as she wrote the name. "How old is she now?"

"Eleven. Nearly twelve."

"And what does she look like?"

Emma tried to remember. She hadn't seen the girl since she was _seven. _Chances were she looked different now. "Brown hair, big brown eyes. She's quite small for her age."

"Any distinguishing features?"

"She has a thin white scar under her left knee. And the back of her right leg has a brown spot on it. Like a freckle, but a bit bigger."

"Hmmm.... where did you see each other last?"

"Auschwitz."

Emilia gulped and wrote it down. _No children have come back from there.... oh, God, she's probably dead!_ "And.... what was she wearing that day?"

She tried to remember. "A red cardigan, a white blouse, a black skirt, white knee socks, and.... black mary janes. Her hair was in a bob, and there was a little clip in it. With a pink rose on it." She sighed. "Emilia, please tell me the truth. Do you think you can find her?"

Emilia sighed. "Emma..... we haven't been able to find any children. And I don't think any have come back from Auschwitz. If you want my honest opinion, I think the chances are very slim."

She gulped. _Maybe I _won't_ find her. _"Thank you, Emilia. You've helped me a lot."

And the next morning, there was an advert in the newspaper, in Emilia's characteristic style. "Have you seen me?" in big letters. Then, in regular type, "the missing individual, Maria Geringer, is a YOUNG GIRL, aged about ELEVEN or TWELVE. Her hair is BROWN, eyes BROWN and quite LARGE. She is SMALL, despite her age. She has a WHITE SCAR under her LEFT KNEE, and the back of her RIGHT LEG has a BROWN SPOT. Last seen at AUSCHWITZ, wearing a RED CARDIGAN, WHITE BLOUSE, BLACK SKIRT and BLACK SHOES. If anyone has seen her, please let us know as soon as possible."

* * *

In the meantime, Maximiliane Vandenburg was considering leaving the country. She was already starting the process to get a visa for England. Just to see what it was like, and if she would like to live there. She couldn't tolerate heat, so she didn't think she could live in Palestine with Karl and Heidi (Chaya, excuse me). She didn't know a word of Hebrew, unless the parsha she'd read at her Bat Mitzvah counted. At least she knew _some _English. And besides, Sarah was living there currently, with her husband and two of their children, so she had family there, as well.

In early April, she told her son and daughter-in-law of her decision. Max gasped. This certainly seemed like a rash decision, especially for a woman as old as her. He knew how much she loved Germany, even if it hadn't been kind to her. "Mama..... now? Really? And at your age, too....."

His mother rolled her eyes. "Oh, please, I'm not _that _old." She sighed. "Now I know this may seem very.... spur-of-the-moment, but honestly, I need to get the hell out of here."

Emma nodded. _We all do__._ "But surely, you'll be here when our baby is born, right?"

"Oh, of course, of course. I wouldn't miss it for the world." She looked at the floor, then looked back up. "If you'd like to come, too, then...."

"I don't think we can leave just yet, Maxime."

She nodded. "I understand. And don't worry about it. I'll write you."

* * *

That month, Emma was starting to show. Some of their neighbors were placing bets as to whether it was a girl or a boy. A lot of the bets were for a girl, for some reason. Emilia didn't partake in the betting, because she didn't wish to lose any money. But she was excited for Emma either way. _Maybe the baby will take her mind off of Maria. _

Meanwhile, Emilia and Armin were still waiting for a response. And in the last week of April, they received one. Emilia was typing out some recipes she'd received from the women around here when Armin came in with someone. A young man, not much older than a boy. His hair was dark and curly, and his eyes were just as dark. He was slight, and she could just tell by looking at him that he'd seen some things. "He says he might know what happened to Maria Geringer."

"Oh! Wonderful!" She got up and pulled up a chair, then took her notepad off her desk. "Please, sit down."

He just stood there. _Oh, he doesn't speak German! _She switched to Hungarian. "Please, sit down. I just need to ask you some questions."

So he sat, and she asked, "What is your name?"

"Erno Levi." His voice was very quiet.

"And..... you say you know what happened to Maria Geringer, correct?"

"I think. I remember seeing her, but what happened to her afterwards is mere conjecture."

_I can work with that. _"Alright, then, so.... please describe what you saw."

"Well...." He took a deep breath and looked at the floor. "I remember when I arrived at the..... selection point, I saw a woman holding a little girl's hand. They were going the other direction, but I could still see them. And I know the little girl was Maria because of the spot on the back of her leg. Anyway, I looked over there not long after, and she wasn't there. It was just the woman. The girl probably ran off somewhere."

"Where do you think she ran off to?"

"I don't know. But maybe she hid somewhere. So she wouldn't have been killed right away."

Emilia nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Levi. This is very helpful to us."

Later that day, she relayed this information to Emma. _So maybe she _is _alive! _"Oh, thank you so much, Emilia!"

"You're very welcome."

That night, Emma thought about this. So Maria ran away. Where would she have gone, though? The place was surrounded by barbed wire. How would she have escaped? The more optimistic part of her imagined that she crawled out (she was small enough, after all), or at least stayed hidden somewhere for the next two years or so. Her train of thought was interrupted, though, when her husband said her name. "Yes?"

He smiled. "What's on your mind?"

"Oh, just..... what Emilia told me about Maria. I know I probably shouldn't think this, but.... there could be a chance that she survived. That maybe she's in an orphanage somewhere."

"Well, Emma, if that's true, then that's amazing. I'd be glad to meet her." He kissed her cheek. "And I'm sure she'll be excited to learn she has a sibling."

"Right, but.... how will I tell her about what happened to her papa?" She sighed and put her head in her hands. "Whatever. I don't need to be worrying about this right now."


	7. Chapter 7

August 6, 1948 was just a regular day. Emma, heavily pregnant with her second child, went about it as if it was. She woke up, showered, dressed, ate breakfast with everyone else here (thankfully, she'd gotten in line early enough to get an adequate amount of food). Then, feeling refreshed, she went for a little walk. She could feel the sun on her, and she was out before it got too hot. It was nice to have some fresh air.

At around two, she was reading a book. _The Great Gatsby_. One of the nurses here had lent it to her. She had trouble understanding some of it, but she hoped it would help her improve her English. Just as she was reading the part where Nick met Gatsby, she felt a contraction and gasped. _It's starting._ It came as a surprise, because it was a bit early. But it was going to be what it was going to be. Because it was just the beginning, she figured she could just relax and keep reading.

At two-thirty, she felt yet another contraction. Max saw her clenching her teeth in pain and asked, "Are you alright?"

"Yes." She gave him a small smile. "I'm alright."

She continued about her day, knowing full well what would happen. Now it was just a matter of when. For some reason, a sort of peace settled over her. With her first child, she'd been panicked about giving birth, and Jens happened to be away while she was in labor, so it was _especially _scary. But that was years ago. She knew what was coming now.

That evening, like every Friday evening, their neighbors gathered to welcome Shabbat. Usually, one of the women would light the candles. And at eight-thirty, the sun made its descent, and tonight, Emma would light the candles. But as she was about to light the match, she felt a sharp, stabbing pain. Her mother-in-law, seeing her doubled over, rubbed her back a little. "Here, sweetheart, I can take care of that."

So Maxime lit the candles, and everyone put their hands over their eyes and said the blessing. But in the middle of that, Emma could feel her water breaking. "Max...."

He immediately sprang to action. _It's really happening!_ "Alright, I'll get you to the doctor. Just breathe."

He sat outside the building, his heart pounding. How he wanted to be beside her at this time, making sure she was alright. He knew she'd done this before, but _still. _But the doctor had asked him to stay outside ("I'm _certain _your wife would like some privacy"), so stay outside he did.

His mother walked by and saw him sitting with his head in his hands. She sat down next to him and asked, "Worried about Emma?"

"Well, of _course_! She's pushing an entire _person _out of her!"

She chuckled a little. "That _is _true." She put an arm around him. "It's understandable to be worried. But you know something? We women are _strong as hell. _Your wife, especially."

"I know that. But...." He sighed. "I don't think that's all I'm worried about. I'm also worried that..... maybe I might not be a good father, you know?"

"I don't think you need to worry about that."

"Why? I can't know how I'll be as a father."

"Why, I can already tell you'll be a good father."

"How?"

"You care. You care about Emma, and you care about this child already." She shifted a bit. "You know, your father was worried about that, too. But even before you were born, I could see that he cared about you. He _loved _you. And honestly, the fact that you're even worried shows that you care."

He smiled. "I suppose you're right." Then he hugged her. "Thank you, Mama."

Just then, one of the nurses walked outside. "You can come in."

They both walked in and saw a smiling Emma holding a little bundle against her chest. "It's a girl." She handed her to Max.

Max held her. The girl had a mess of brown hair and his thick, swampy black eyes. This was _his _daughter. He clutched her to him and said, "Well, hello, there. I'm your papa."

After a bit, Emma asked, "So, what do you think we'll name her?"

Hmmm..... Max wasn't completely certain. But he had some ideas. "Helene?"

"It's pretty, but she doesn't look like a Helene."

Just then, he remembered a woman who was scary and imposing at first glance, but had helped him quite a lot. Saved his life, in fact. A certain Rosa. "How about Rosa?"

"Rosa. Short and sweet. I like it. And for her middle name..... what do you think of Lotte?" Her mother's name, to pass down her legacy.

Max nodded, knowing how much that name meant to her. "Her name will have a bit of each of our history. I like it."

The birth certificate they filled out confirmed the existence of a Rosa Lotte Vandenburg, born on August 6, 1948 at eleven-thirty p.m. to Max and Emma Vandenburg. Their daughter.


	8. Chapter 8

Rosa was a fairly quiet baby. Quieter than Maria had been. Adorable and endearing, she was loved by all who knew her, most of all her parents. For the first few weeks, Max was in utter disbelief that he'd _made _this little girl. One morning, he was holding Rosa, and when the girl stirred and opened her eyes, he saw his own staring back at him. Even after all that time, it was still a bit strange.

In early September, Maximiliane finally left for England. Saying goodbye to her son and his family, she promised to write them. But even so, after spending years estranged from her son and constantly fearing for his life, it was still hard to say goodbye. She didn't cry yet, though. And she didn't cry in the train station, either, feeling everyone's eyes on her. But on the train, she couldn't help herself. She was leaving her family for a country she didn't know.

The air grew cooler, the sky grayer and darker. One by one, people were starting to leave. Jarek, Helena, and their one-year-old daughter left for Palestine (Israel, now). Emma asked Helena if she was sure she wanted to start her life over, and she said, "Of course I'm certain. In fact, I think that's what I need. To start over."

Emma and Max were seriously considering leaving, as well. They didn't want Rosa to grow up without a proper home, after all. But visas were limited, as was money. There weren't a whole lot of countries willing to open their doors to refugees. Still, they applied for visas, to America.

His mother wrote them about England. She felt lost and overwhelmed on the streets of London, the English too fast for her to keep up with. Therefore, it felt safer most days to stay in Sarah's apartment. There, she'd be alone with her thoughts most of the time. Sometimes, she'd see Sarah's children ("not children anymore", she wrote). For the most part, she remained in her own German bubble. This worried Max, because he thought she'd eventually get bored, being cooped up like that all the time. He advised her to go out at least a little, perhaps with Sarah or one of the children so she wouldn't get lost.

Before they were to leave the country, though, there was quite a bit of business to take care of. They were both missing quite a few of their belongings, for starters. Max's mother had asked a friend to keep the family photos, and before she left the country, she was able to retrieve all of them but one. (The friend claimed not to know where that one was.) There wasn't much he could do about anything else, though, because he already knew another family was living in his aunt and uncle's apartment, and he guessed it was the same situation with his own place. Not that he'd ever had much to his name, anyway.

Emma, meanwhile, had left _everything _at the house in Paris. The photos, the fine china, everything except for Maria's teddy bear and the clothes on their backs. Speaking of Maria, the other order of business entailed finding her. 

In late November, after a great deal of discussion, they finally drew out a plan. First, they would go to western Poland, where she and Maria had seen each other last. Then they'd go to Stuttgart and Paris to get their things, and from there, they'd go to New York and start their lives there.

The night before they were to leave, Emma felt a fluttery feeling in her stomach. She could hardly sleep as she imagined seeing Maria again. A nagging thought at the back of her mind told her she shouldn't get her hopes up, though. Overwhelmed by these conflicting feelings, she tried to fall asleep. _Things will be clearer in the morning. _

Papers and a small bag in hand, they left the next morning. Max put his coat on and Emma carried their daughter. He stood up, then looked towards his wife. "Are you ready?"

"Yes."

"Then let's go."

They walked out of the barrack, into the chill of the morning. Max had to take one last look at it. Even if this wasn't his home, it had served as a decent replacement over the last three years. _Our life starts now. _


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cried writing this chapter, holy shit. Anyways, here you go- an update after a while.

The train pulled into the sleepy Polish town of Oswiecim. It was quiet- perhaps a little _too _quiet. One couldn't even guess what had happened just a few miles in. "It looks like we're here," said Emma.

They got off the train, and Rosa started to fuss a little. Emma sang to her, her voice so soft it was practically a whisper. "_Guten Abend, gute Nacht. Mit Rosen bedacht, mit Näglein besteckt, schlüpf unter die Deck. Morgen früh, wenn Gott will, wirst du wieder geweckt. Morgen früh, wenn Gott will, wirst du wieder geweckt." _Hearing her mother's voice, the infant calmed down a bit.

The station was mostly empty, save for a few people. Outside, a layer of fog seemed to blanket the landscape. The surroundings looked pretty innocent at first. Beautiful Baroque buildings, the spire of a church in the background. I had carried many souls over this skyline. The Nazis had spared this part, it seemed. But as they kept walking, they saw the infamous brick building in the distance, and all of a sudden, Emma remembered pulling into the place and seeing the black smoke. Even now, she could almost smell burning flesh.....

"Emma?"

"Yes?"

"Is something wrong?"

She shook the memory out of her head. "No, no, I was just.... remembering some things." _That's an understatement. __  
_

He nodded. He knew full well what she meant by that.

They spent the afternoon walking around town, visiting churches, because orphaned children typically stayed there. Communicating was a bit hard, because Emma and Max didn't speak Polish, and the nuns usually didn't speak German. Plus, there were loads of Marias, it being such a common name in Poland. But when they asked to see the children, Emma never saw her daughter. There may have been plenty of little girls with brown hair, but none of them had the wide eyes that lit up when she was excited, or that small smile. After the fourth such place, she was starting to lose hope. Looking out at the newer, hastily constructed housing blocks, she sighed. "I know my little girl, and I haven't seen her all day."

"We'll find her, don't worry." He didn't know this for sure, though. But he hated seeing her sad like this. "Why don't we try one more place before we turn in for the night?"

"Alright, then." 

The next place they went to was the local orphanage. It was, like some of the other buildings, ornately decorated in the old style, and the paint was light blue and chipping in places. There was clearly a Catholic influence, with a statue of the Virgin Mary in front. _This has to be the place, _thought Emma. 

The lady who greeted them was blonde, short, and a little pudgy. Seeing the young family, a baby in the man's arms, and assuming they were another couple there to adopt, she started speaking to them in Polish. "Oh, no- no Polish!" laughed Max. 

She switched to German. "Hello, my name is Patrycja Kowalczyk. Are you here to adopt?"

"No, we're looking for a certain child," said Emma. "Maria Geringer?" Her heart rate started to go up. _Come on...._

"Hmmm... there are lots of little girls here called Maria. I don't think I know any with that last name." She rested a hand on her chin. "How old is she?"

"Twelve. But.... six when I saw her last."

"And what does she look like?"

She had the recitation of physical features down pat by now. "Brown hair in a bob, big brown eyes, a brown spot on the back of her leg."

Mrs. Kowalczyk gasped and looked down. "...._Oh._"

_Oh, no. _She was imagining the worst. "What is it?"

She sighed. "You may want to sit down for this."

So they all sat. "I did see a little girl like her. Long time ago, five years. She was on the side of the road, shivering. Her face was red, and her lips were.... bluish. Purple, almost. I took her here, tried to give her a warm bath, and I saw that parts of her were blue, too. Her fingers, her toes...." She shook her head. "She just crouched in the corner and stayed. She didn't want to come out, so I thought I should give her her space, and five minutes later.... she was gone. Like that."

The color started to drain from Emma's face. _My__ little girl is dead. _Memories of Maria flashed before her: holding her for the first time in the hospital, watching her take her first steps, letting her fall asleep on her lap that night they left Germany, hearing her chirpy _"Merci!"_ to the mailman, taking her to school for the first time, sewing her name into her clothes, putting an apple in her lunch every day, making that costume for her, saying goodbye to her and telling her to be a big brave girl...... Now that girl was gone. Forever.

_No. _Max was alarmed now. This couldn't be! "Mrs. Kowalczyk.... are you certain that was Maria?"

She nodded gravely. "Yes. Her blouse had that name in red stitching inside the collar."

Emma could feel the room start to spin. Then everything went black.

When she woke up, Max was standing over her. Mrs. Kowalczyk was holding Rosa this time. "Oh, good, you're awake," he said.

The memory of what she'd just heard came rushing right back, and she started to cry. "Max," she sobbed. "She's dead."

He held her. "I know, darling, I know."

"She was alone. And cold. And she probably just wanted her mama....."

"It's alright."

She wiped her eyes on her sleeve. "I think we should just leave now."

He nodded. "Alright, then. Let's go." He turned to Mrs. Kowalczyk and took the baby from her. "Thank you."

* * *

Two weeks had passed. They were in Paris now, having been largely unsuccessful in Stuttgart. Max's apartment had been looted, so there was nothing of value. And being in the city just brought up too many old memories, so much so that it was overwhelming. Emma was just trying not to think about Maria, because now it was more painful than ever.

It had been a while since Emma had been back in the city, and it felt.... strange. So much had changed since she'd last seen it. Some streets were reduced to rubble. There were lots of housing blocks that seemed to have popped up out of nowhere. Still, she knew these streets quite well and was eager to show Max around.

Max had never been here. In fact, until recently, he hadn't even been out of Germany! At one point, he cooed to Rosa, "You get to see the world already! How do you like that?"

"Look, the Eiffel Tower!" He pointed to the spire in the distance. "What do you say we go up there?"

She smiled. It was the classic tourist thing to do. But anything to delay more unpleasant trips down memory lane... "Well, let's see if the lifts have been repaired."

"What do you mean?"

"When Hitler came, they cut the lift cables so he'd have to take all those stairs up to the top."

"Serves him right." They shared a rueful laugh.

Thankfully, the lift cables had been repaired, so they took the elevator all the way up those floors. Max found it both thrilling and terrifying, the ascent. And from the top, everything looked tiny. The people, the cars, the buildings. "Wow."

"Yeah, I used to love going up here, when I could."

Afterwards, they stopped for lunch at a little cafe because they figured they could. For a little bit, it was just the three of them, and they could bask in the bliss. But as Emma looked out onto the sidewalk, she remembered going for a little walk with Maria and picking up the first fallen leaves of the year. This was in the good days, back when the Nazis were little more than a bad memory. She felt the tears coming, once again.

Finally, they arrived at Emma's old place. As expected, someone else was living there, an old woman. She really did seem sweet. Her name was Bisset, Claire Bisset. Emma and Claire spoke for a bit while Max just listened and marveled at how beautiful the French sounded. "I used to live here," explained Emma. "I just came here to look for some things."

"Ah, I always wanted to know who lived here before me." She smiled. "Please, come in."

They looked around. The walls were familiar, and she could name where everything had been, but something seemed off about it. The furniture was all different. She got a sinking feeling in her stomach. _It got looted! _Still, she wanted to look around. "You know, I saw a few things of yours," said Madame Bisset. She led them to a small room that Emma recognized as her mother's bedroom, and took two framed pictures off of the dresser. "I found them on the floor when I moved in and thought it was only fair if I put them up somewhere."

Emma looked at the pictures. One was of her and Jens's wedding, and the other was of Maria at about three years old. She was seated on a chair, wearing a little dress with big polka-dots. Her mouth was slightly open, and Emma remembered that Jens had pulled a face at her that day to get her to smile for the camera. She blinked back the tears. _Damn it, Emma, don't do it now._

"There's more," said the other woman. She walked into the closet and produced one of Maria's sweaters and a photo.

This photo was much smaller and wasn't framed. Emma looked at it and recognized _herself. _She was a young girl in this one, eleven or twelve. She was wearing a white nightgown and had flowers in her hair, and she remembered that it was a costume for a school play. That part of her life felt like a lifetime ago. "Wow, I.... thank you."

"You're very welcome, dear."

Emma picked up the sweater and smelled it. It still had remnants of Maria's sweet childhood smell. And on the tag, in red stitching, was her name. "I always wondered who this Maria was," said Madame Bisset.

"My... my daughter."

Once they were out of the apartment, she couldn't help herself. She burst into tears, and Max rubbed her back. "It's alright. Let it out." He knew she needed to, after this.

"I guess I really _do _have no one now."

"No, you don't. That's not true. You have me, and you have Rosa." He gave her a small smile. "We're going to start a new life, the three of us."

"I suppose you're right." Neither of them was certain what the future held, but all they knew was that they had to continue.

* * *

**********A small story******

When I went to collect Maria Geringer's soul, something struck me about her. I don't know why. I'd collected lots of children's souls that day, especially in that part of the world. But when I came to that little Polish orphanage and saw her curled in the corner of the washroom, I saw the light in her eyes starting to disappear, and it hurt. I could tell she'd been such a lively little girl, but now she was fading fast. When she saw me approaching, she glared. "I'm not ready."

"It'll be alright," I told her. I knew most children were scared to go with me.

"No! I want my mama and papa!" She started to cry. "I want to go home!"

And for a while, I held her as she cried, trying not to do so myself. I knew it wouldn't be the same, but I sang her the lullaby her mother always did. "You'll see your parents soon enough, don't worry."

Her tears slowed, and she asked, "Will I... will I get to play with my friends?"

"Yes."

"Can I see my home again?"

"Of course, sweetheart. Now hang on tight." And we floated, above the town, the sky choked with ash. I took her to that apartment in Paris, let her wander through the rooms. "Let me know when you're ready."

She touched each object, making sure everything was still there, then held some of her toys. I watched as she cradled her doll, one last time. "Alright, we can go now, mister."

I took her hand. "Well, then, let's go. And there's someone outside waiting for you."

We walked out, onto the streets of Paris. And her grandmother was across the street, waiting for her. "Oma!"

The woman smiled, and Maria ran into her arms, and I left to carry out the rest of my tasks. I was quite busy today, after all. But I couldn't help but look back at the both of them, holding each other. _She'll be alright._


	10. Chapter 10

New York City wasn't exactly _welcoming. _When they arrived, it was bitterly cold and starting to snow. The apartment they were renting, in a place called the Bronx, was small and poorly heated. The city was big, fast-paced, and easy to get lost in.

That first day, she told Max, "We need to find jobs. Fast. The rent isn't going to pay itself."

They spent the following days combing through classified ads. Emma found a position as a secretary one day. It was almost perfect! She'd had two years of secretarial school back in Germany, but the Nuremberg Laws had kept her from working. Now here, in America, there were no such laws.

She took the subway all the way into Manhattan and showed up at the interview wearing the best dress she owned. She answered the questions in slow, careful English, just to let the interviewer know she knew her stuff. But he sighed and told her, "You received your training in another country. I can't hire you."

Crestfallen, she thanked him and left. "How did it go?" asked Max when she got home.

"Terrible." She sighed. "Our education doesn't count here, Max. I'm going to have to start all over."

He placed a hand on her shoulder. "Emma, we came here for a fresh start. Even though we have to start over, we'll be alright."

Emma managed to find a job waiting tables. The work was demeaning and exhausting, but at least it paid, and she had a way to get extra food. Her boss frequently got mad at her for not understanding his fast instructions. And when she asked him to repeat what he'd said, slower this time, he'd say, "What, are you fucking deaf or something? I _said_...." And then he'd repeat the command louder and slower.

She didn't think she could complain, though. This job was helping her pay her way through this second round of secretarial school, and keeping a roof over everyone's heads.

Max, meanwhile, found a job in a car factory. He was faring better in the working world, as the job paid well and his English skills were pretty good. Still, he remembered his dream of being a journalist, and to supplement it, he took night classes. He felt awkward, being the oldest student in his class.

Months passed. Life wasn't easy. They both still had nightmares, and they were both faced with reminders of their old lives at times. Emma didn't think she'd ever get over losing Maria. Sometimes, in her worst moments, she'd take the sweater, smell it, and just sit with the memories for a while.

New York summer took some getting used to. The humidity was _crazy_. "This isn't good for my hair," said Emma one afternoon before work as she tried to tame her fly-aways.

Still, despite the difficulty, there were good parts. They got to watch Rosa grow up, say her first words, sit and stand by herself, even take her first steps. She was a sweet, happy little girl, and both parents were still in awe that they'd _made _her. And now they were watching her grow.

One night, Max decided to surprise his wife. So he took them all out, to a nearby ice cream parlor. Ice cream was one thing of many that they hadn't had in a long while. They sat at the counter that night, eating ice cream and giggling. "You are full of surprises, Max."

He smiled. "I figured we deserved a treat."

They may not have had much in the way of money, but they had love, and lots of it.

Max found himself going to the nearby Jewish community center almost every day just to see if any of his family members had arrived. Most of the time, he didn't find anyone. But one day, he was looking around when he heard a voice. "Max?"

He turned around and couldn't believe his eyes. The speaker had pinned-up brown hair and was wearing just a little bit of makeup. It had been some years, but he knew who it was... "Katja!"

They both gasped and ran towards each other. "I never thought I'd find you," she said.

"Me neither."

They updated each other on their lives. Katja and her husband had gone looking for their son after the war, but he, like so many, had perished. They were still very upset about it, but on the bright side, they had another child, a girl. "Her name's Patsy. I wanted to give her an American name."

"How old is she?"

"Three."

Max told her where everyone else was (that they knew of). And as he mentioned everyone, he considered the circumstances and thought, _Wow. We really are lucky. _"Where are you living, Katja?"

"Rego Park."

"Well, you should come out here more often and visit when you can. Everyone's so scattered these days that it's been just the three of us."

"Of course. I could use some company, too."

* * *

It was September when Emma realized that she was pregnant. _Again. _She told Max, and for a while, he didn't say anything. "Wow, Emma, that's.... that's _great_!"

She sighed. "I don't know how to feel about this. I love babies, but.... I'm not sure if it's worth it to bring children into this world. If I've learned anything in the last several years, it's that the world can be an awful place."

He nodded. They'd both experienced the worst the world had to offer. "Well, I'll be here to support you. Always."

The next months were pretty rocky. She had to stop working, because during her shifts, she was always on her feet. Max helped her with the hard parts. He turned the lights off when she had a headache, pushed the wastebasket towards her. And somehow, he managed to get her whatever it was she was craving. Whether it was a milkshake, or a hot dog, or just plain peanut butter, she could rely on him to bring it home. 

December 10, 1949 marked a year since they'd been in the United States. That day, Max decided to take her to see the Rockettes. "Wouldn't be New York without it."

"Max. Can we afford it?"

"Yes, don't worry about that."

After the show, they walked back to the subway station, but stopped to look at everything. There were lots of lights on every building, and the snow reflected the different colors. Just in general, everything seemed.... _calm._ Serene. "Such a beautiful night," she said.

"It really is." He breathed in the cold, crisp air, once again appreciating what he got to experience.

They brought in the new decade, just the three (soon to be four) of them in their apartment. Sitting on the couch together, they remembered when they'd said they would see many more of those.

But as the month went on, Emma was starting to think that maybe they should move. The city didn't seem like a good place to raise children, and the apartment wasn't big enough for the growing family. So she and Max talked about it one day.

Walter had been writing to them a lot about the town he lived in. A place called Sparrows Point, in Maryland. It did sound like a beautiful place, with its coastline and small-town charm. And the schools were good, too. So, after some deliberation, they decided this would be their next home. "I'm sure this will work out," said Max.

"I hope so."


	11. Chapter 11

In May of 1950, Max and Emma moved down to Maryland. Sparrows Point was small, seeming to spill over and merge into the next two towns. The land was flat, with no hills to disturb it. Some of the houses were literally steps away from the water. _What happens if there's a flood? _thought Emma.

That first day, the air was so thick you could cut it with a knife, and the mosquitoes seemed to come out of nowhere. Their new house was light blue clapboard, in a row of houses nearly identical to it. They sat together in the empty living room that evening, her head resting against his chest. The last few years had been difficult, but they hoped this place would give them the fresh start they needed. 

Max was working at the shipyard to supplement the family income, which left Emma at home with Rosa. This gave her a lot of time to be alone with her thoughts. She'd find herself thinking about the past, but whenever she did, she'd try to bring herself back into the present. No. She wasn't going to let memories of things long gone weigh her down. Instead, she'd try and think about the future.

Obviously, she couldn't work _now_, being very, _very _pregnant with what the doctor said might be twins. But after she had the babies, what would she do? And who would look after the children? Back in New York, she could count on her and Max working at different times so they could alternate watching Rosa, but they'd both be working at the same time! Trying to figure this out upset her as well, and Max would try to reassure her. "We'll figure it out," he told her. "We can make it work."

They tried to adjust to living in this new place. Thankfully, their neighbors were friendlier than New Yorkers, saying, "Bless your heart" and bringing over food. Some of them, as they found out, were also survivors. Emma became close with one particular woman, Marianne Weiss. She was a bit younger than Emma, at thirty, and had been in America for more than ten years, but she still spoke perfect German with a sharp Austrian accent. She put up a tough facade, but Emma noticed that there were cracks in that persona sometimes, when she was talking about the past and the family she'd left behind. The two women understood each other. It felt good to have someone to commiserate with.

On June 20, 1950, Emma went into labor. When it happened, she was sitting on Marianne's porch, Rosa at her side. Max still had yet to come home from work. "Marianne," she said weakly. "Take me to the hospital."

Max arrived at Baltimore General that evening, insisting on sitting at his wife's side this time. As the night wore on, he could feel himself starting to get tired, but he knew he needed to stay awake, for her. And at two the next morning, the twins were born. A boy and a girl. They both had black hair, like Max. "First Vandenburgs born in America," said Emma.

It was agreed that the boy would be called Isaac Karl, and the girl would be Maximiliane Paula. At first, Emma expressed concern that they were naming the girl after Max's still-living mother, but Max told her he didn't believe in that. "And besides, I'm not giving her her Hebrew name. It'll be fine."

She chuckled a little. "Whatever you say."

He smiled. "Alright, I've kept you up long enough. Get some sleep, and I'll be here to see you tomorrow." Kissing her forehead, he said, "I love you."

"I love you, too, Max."

* * *

Years passed. Max had managed to get out of the shipyard and find a job at the local newspaper. Emma was working, too, in Baltimore. Rosa was a quiet, curious little girl. She was almost always wandering off to attend to whatever it was that had drawn her focus, whether it was a butterfly or a seashell. She was very smart, too, having learned to read early.

Another child had followed after the twins, a boy named Maxwell. His arrival had been a surprise. Throughout her pregnancy with him, Emma had felt a growing anxiety, much like she had felt with the twins. But she told herself that the children would grow up in a world of peace, surrounded by people who loved them.

It was an overcast day in November when Max suggested they all go out. "Rosa, darling, put on a sweater," he said. "It's cold out."

So she ran upstairs to grab a sweater. But, distracted, she wandered into her parents' room. She hadn't been in here before. Walking into the closet, she saw a little red sweater. Maybe it was small enough to fit her. She took it, picked it up. On the tag was a name in red stitching. Maria. Huh. Strange. Putting on the sweater, she figured she'd ask her father about it later. 

Max gasped when she came downstairs _wearing Maria's sweater_! "Rosa! You can't wear that! Take that off before Mama sees!"

She took off the sweater. "Why, Papa?"

He sighed. _Should I tell her? _"Why don't you sit here with me?"

So they sat on the steps together. "Papa, what is it?"

"Your mama.... she had another baby, before you. A little girl."

"Like me."

"Exactly. But when she was still very little, she died. And that was her sweater that you just found."

"Maria's sweater."

"Yes."

She sat for a bit, trying to imagine this. She tried to imagine her mother braiding some other girl's hair, admonishing her to put on a raincoat, singing her to sleep. Doing all the same things she did with her, except with a different girl. "Did Mama love that other little girl?"

"Yes, very, very much. That's why she wanted to keep her sweater." He put an arm around her. "If you ever want to know anything else, just ask me. Alright?"

"Alright."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *There's an Ashkenazi Jewish superstition that you shouldn't name babies after living family members, so that explains the concern.


	12. Chapter 12

More time passed. The family totaled to seven now. Five children: Rosa, Isaac, Maximiliane (or Maxi), Maxwell (or Junior), and Eva. There would be visits from family, what was left of it. All in all, they had a pretty nice life. Comfortable.

One evening in July 1953, a couple months after the youngest had been born, Emma and Max were going to go out, leaving the children in the care of their grandmother. Max had been on edge for quite a while, so Emma figured a night out would help him relax a little. As they were getting ready, though, he was pacing around the room, muttering to himself. She turned around, feeling uneasy. "Max?"

He didn't respond, just kept pacing. Gradually, his voice got louder and louder, but she couldn't make sense of what he was saying. Now she was frightened. She knew he hadn't had an episode in years. "Max!"

He still didn't respond, just placed his hands over his ears. "Get out of my head! Get out of my head!"

She went over to him and put a hand on his shoulder. "It's alright. It's not real."

He pulled away from her and, before she could do anything, rammed his head into the mirror. She couldn't stand to watch him hurt himself. "Stop it!"

The mirror broke, and blood started to appear on his head. She let out a long, loud scream and dragged him away from the mirror. "Max, we- we need to go to the hospital."

"No, please! No hospital!"

"We have to, goddamn it! You're bleeding!" She attempted to staunch the blood with a towel.

Holding the towel on his head, she led him down the stairs. Rosa's eyes went wide when she saw them. "Why's Papa all bloody?"

Still shaking from what had just happened, Emma forced a smile and tried to act calm. "Papa hurt himself on accident. He'll be fine, don't worry."

Maxime gasped and ran over to them. "What the hell happened?"

"Max was hitting his head against the mirror. I think he had a breakdown or something. We're going to the hospital. I don't know how long we'll be gone for."

_What the hell was I thinking? _That was Max's first thought when he finally came to his senses in the hospital. He didn't know what had come over him. Nothing like this had happened in years, and _never _in front of his wife. He'd probably scared the living hell out of her.

Sitting on the bed, his throbbing head in his hands, he took in the surroundings. He was feeling a little blurry from the head injury and the medication, but he could still see and feel everything alright. White room, that distinctive hospital smell. A strange mix of bleach and antiseptic. He knew it all too well. Emma was by his side, looking pretty distraught. "I'm sorry, Emma, I don't know what came over me, I just...."

She rested a hand on his arm. "It's alright."

He turned to one of the nurses. "How long will I have to stay here?"

She furrowed her brow. "A week, at the least."

He left the hospital after a week and a half, still very, very ashamed of what he'd done. He'd received visits from family and neighbors, and for the most part, they showed sympathy. But he wondered what they really thought of him. He knew how people with his condition were perceived by society. Whether he wanted it or not, his children were going to be old enough one day, and they'd start asking questions. What would he tell them?

The doctors had provided him with medication. While he was, at first, reluctant to accept it because of how it made him feel, he realized that he felt, for the first time in a while, like he had some control over his mind and his life. They couldn't afford therapy currently, but he talked with Emma about it quite a bit. "Maybe when we can afford it, you ought to go, too," he suggested once.

"I don't think I need it."

"We've both been through a lot. I think we should acknowledge it."

"I appreciate the offer, but I'll be fine. Really."

* * *

Each of the five children grew up. Their parents wanted to raise them Jewish, feeling that there ought to be somebody to carry on the traditions. So it was Shabbat dinner every Friday night, synagogue on Saturday.

Each child had their own identity. Rosa was ambitious, always wanting to get ahead, and it paid off. When she finished second grade, she was given the opportunity to skip ahead and go on to fourth grade. Isaac was a little prankster, but when he wasn't playing tricks on his parents or siblings, he was actually pretty pleasant to be around. His gap-toothed smile was enough to melt your heart. Maxi always had her nose in a book, to the point where it was a running joke among the rest of the family. Junior was shy and quiet, and a bit of a "mama's boy", so to speak. And Eva? She was the baby of the family. Silly and bouncy, nearly everybody found her adorable.

These were the roles Max and Emma knew their children to fill. But as time went on, there started to be some changes. It began with the kids starting to speak more English at home. Their language was peppered with slang their parents found utterly incomprehensible, like "daddy-o", "swell", "big deal". Once, they were at a movie theater when eight-year-old Rosa said, "I'm going to use the can."

_What does_ that _mean? _"Can?" asked Emma.

The girl rolled her eyes. "_Bathroom_."

Sure enough, the kids had questions, and they were old enough to ask. Rosa, remembering what her father had told her about Maria, was curious to know more about her. But, knowing that her mother didn't like to talk about her life before the children, she didn't ask about her. Isaac asked his father what it was like when he was a little boy, and he told him about how he and his mother lived off of canned meat for several months because it was all they could afford. After all these years, he could still remember the briny-salty taste.

One breezy spring day, Emma was sitting on the porch, Eva in her lap. She felt the little girl tracing her fingers over the numbers on her arm, then rubbing them. "Why aren't those numbers coming off?"

She gulped. "They- they can't come off."

"Hm." Eva went silent for a while. Then she asked, "Mama, can we still be buried together?"

This was something she'd feared, ever since it had been inked into her arm. "I'm sure we can." But she could feel herself starting to cry.

December 1958 marked a decade since they'd been in America. It had all gone by so fast. So much had changed, in their lives and in themselves. Their children were getting older, whether they liked it or not. Their lives were continuing. They had survived.

By this point, Rosa had asked her parents not to speak German with her at school. Emma was a bit hurt by this, because whenever they spoke it in public together, it felt like they had a secret language, something that tied them together. "Why, darling?" she asked the first time.

"It's a little embarrassing."

Emma couldn't help but feel as if she'd given birth to a stranger. Rosa was growing into a different person. She spoke English like a native, oftentimes faster than her parents could understand. She spent less and less time in the house, preferring to linger after school with her friends. It was just a part of growing up, she knew that, but why now?

Max saw how hurt she was over this and tried to reassure her. "Everybody's a little self-conscious at this age. I'm sure she'll get over it at some point."

"I know _that_, but.... it feels like she's getting farther and farther from me. And I'm worried that's going to happen with _all _of the children, and then....." It was actually making her tear up, thinking about it.

"Emma, they're just growing up. They'll find their way back, don't worry."

One Saturday afternoon, she was shoveling snow out of the driveway when she saw Walter coming up their street. "Hello, Walter."

He smiled. "Hello, Emma. How are the kids?"

"They're doing pretty well, actually. You should see Rosa. She's changed a lot since you last saw her." She sighed. "Not sure if that's a good thing."

He nodded. "Ten's a rough age."

"Yeah, it.... it feels like I don't recognize her anymore."

"I understand. But honestly, I think she's just trying to figure out who she is. And sometimes, in order to do that, kids have to separate themselves from the parents. So in the meantime, all you can do is let her know that you're here if she needs anything along the way."

"Thanks." She chuckled a little. "I always knew this was going to happen, but I think I just didn't want to accept it."

He thought of his own daughter and laughed a little, too. "Nobody does."

"I'm not looking forward to the teenage years." At this, they both shared a laugh. "Really, though, I appreciate the advice. Thank you, Walter."

"Glad to be of help." And with that, he walked off.

As she kept shoveling, she remembered what he'd said and felt a little better. _We'll get through this._


	13. Chapter 13

The new decade certainly was off to a turbulent start. There was a lot of talk of a potential war with the Soviet Union, and the neighbors were talking about the "Reds" or the "Commies". One day, Maxi and Isaac came home from school saying that they had done a "bomb drill" that day. "It's kind of like a fire drill, except instead of lining up outside, we went into the school basement."

Both Max and Emma remembered sheltering from legitimate air raids and were somewhat alarmed. "Who would be bombing Sparrows Point?" asked Max.

Isaac shrugged. "Russians, maybe. Beats me."

"I don't think it's gonna happen, though," said Maxi. "I mean, I doubt anybody outside of Maryland knows about this place."

As the twins walked off, Emma looked back at them and wondered how innocent they still were. They were clearly products of a different time. They still thought the world was good, because to them, it had been.

Max took it upon himself to tell the children about his experiences during the war because he thought they ought to know. Emma, meanwhile, didn't wish to talk about it. Even after all these years, she spent nights surrounded by the faces. And the smell of burning flesh.... she just couldn't escape it. Talking about it would just bring it all to the surface.

One day, she walked in on her husband showing their youngest daughter a picture. She looked over their shoulders and recognized it as a picture of his family. And she listened as he went on to explain that more than half of the people in the picture were dead. "Why?" asked Eva.

He cleared his throat and attempted to explain to the eight-year-old, as best he could, what had happened and how the German government had wanted their people dead. And as he was talking about the camps, Emma bristled a little and put a hand on her husband's shoulder. "Max, please. Don't scare her."

"I'm not trying to scare her. I'm just telling her the truth."

He told her how the members of his family had died, the ones he knew about. Starvation. Disease. A bullet to the head. Inhaling poison gas. Suicide, in one case. And he was sure there were other, worse things.

"_Max,_" said Emma again.

"No, no, Mama, I want to know more."

Over the next several weeks, Eva was thinking about what her father had told her. Some nights, she'd be kept awake, images of barbed wire and corpses in her head. One night, she had a dream where she was at school when a few soldiers marched in and made all the students line up against the wall. One of them gave her a look that was severe enough to make her blood freeze and pointed a gun at her. And that was when she woke up, sweating and gasping. A little afraid to sleep now, she twisted the end of her sheet in her hand and looked around. The room was dark, too dark. 

Not wanting to wake up her sisters, she crept out of the room and toward her parents'. She knocked on the door, just hoping her father would open it. She knew it was just a dream, but her stomach was still churning and she just wanted somebody familiar to reassure her. 

Max got up and cracked the door open. There was his youngest child, in her pajamas, her dark hair messy. "What is it?"

"Can I sleep in your room tonight?"

He figured she'd had a nightmare, and that was why she was asking. "Of course, Eva. Come in."

So she walked into the room and got under the covers. Burying her head in her father's chest, she breathed in his warm scent. "What did you dream about?" he whispered. 

Reluctantly, she told him about her nightmare. "I dreamed that we were in school and then these men marched in and made us all line up. Then one of them pointed a gun at me, and that's when I woke up."

As he heard this, he was starting to regret having told her about these awful things. "It's alright. It's just a dream." He stroked her hair. 

"That'll never happen for _real_, though, right, Papa?"

He knew, deep down, that he couldn't be too sure. But he wanted her to know that she was safe, at least for now. "No, of course not. I'm here. You're safe."

It didn't take long for her to fall asleep, feeling just a little safer. And he looked at her, saw how innocent and sweet she looked, and hoped she stayed like this forever. But he knew she wouldn't. So all he could do was cherish these little moments with her. "Sleep well," he whispered.


	14. Chapter 14

Years passed. The children grew and changed. The baby pictures on the mantel were replaced with Bar and Bat Mitzvah photos, sixth-grade graduation pictures. In May 1965, both Eva and Rosa graduated, within a week of each other. For weeks, Max and Emma had been overjoyed for both girls, Rosa especially. Her hard work had paid off, and she'd gotten into Radcliffe.

Eva had had a difficult year. Ever since fourth grade, people had been making fun of her at school. They'd make fun of the way she looked and dressed, and eventually, the harassment moved to her Jewishness. Unfortunately, many people in town still subscribed to the belief that the Jews killed Jesus. At first, she'd tried not to let the jokes about her being the Devil faze her, even if they did hurt. But for the past year, she'd wondered what the point was in going to school if she was just going to be humiliated. Whatever. She was just glad she wouldn't have to see these people in junior high.

The parents hosted a party for both girls. About half the town showed up. It was hot out, but the mosquito count was relatively low, and at least it was bearable. Eva tried to act like she was having a good time that afternoon, but she just... _wasn't. _She knew this was a happy occasion and she was supposed to be enjoying herself, but for some reason, she didn't feel _anything. _

She sat on the grass, licking a bright red Popsicle, watching as her friends played with Hula Hoops. One of her friends, Helmut Kugler, sat down next to her. "Hey, Eva."

"Hey."

For a while, they sat in silence. But then she asked, "What's junior high like?"

He rolled his eyes. "So far.... _boring_."

"Well, _that's _not too promising."

He laughed a little. "Oh, don't worry. It'll be fine." He patted her shoulder. "I'm sure it's different for everybody. Who knows, maybe there might be a class you like."

The family saw Rosa off in Massachusetts at the end of the summer. When they said goodbye to her in her dorm, Emma couldn't help but tear up a little. It had all gone by so fast. She could remember when she was just a baby, and now here she was. All grown up and living away from her parents. "Aw, Mom, don't cry," she said, hugging her.

"I'm just so proud of you."

"Thanks."

She blinked back the tears and cleared her throat. "You're smart. I'm sure you'll do well." She kissed the top of her head. "I love you."

"I love you, too, Mom."

Eva was a little uneasy about starting junior high. But her first day was actually pretty good. The school was outside of her town, so nobody knew her business and she could have a fresh start. One of her friends from elementary school, Mary Lou, was at the same school, so she wasn't completely alone. And they made a new friend that day. His name was Patrick, and he was in their English class. He was tall, had a pink complexion, and was covered in freckles from head to toe.

One morning, after they'd been in school for about two weeks, the three met up by one of the lockers. "I have an idea," said Patrick. "Why don't we skip today?"

Eva gasped. She'd never done anything like that before! "I don't know, I'm not too sure about that...."

"Oh, come on, nobody will know."

She thought about this for a bit. She didn't want to get in trouble for this. But the school day that lay ahead _did _seem onerous... "Okay, then. What are we gonna do?"

"We can go to my house and hang out. Nobody's home, anyway."

That day, the three of them hung out at his house, watching TV. Then, after a few hours, he showed the girls a bag of weed. "What the hell is that?" asked Mary Lou.

Eva rolled her eyes. "_Pot_, Mary Lou." She knew a few kids in her neighborhood who smoked the stuff on occasion, without their parents' knowledge, of course. She didn't do it herself, but she'd always been curious about it.

"Wanna try some?" asked Patrick.

Both girls accepted. Eva didn't really feel much from smoking it other than a sort of.... _calm. _It was like all her cares seemed to melt away. She wanted to stay like this forever, watching TV with her friends, eating snacks and giggling. 

Over the following weeks, ditching school- and smoking pot- became a habit for the three of them. Of course, they didn't do this _every _day. Eva liked this ritual of theirs. It made her feel grown-up, to be doing something so forbidden.

On one of their "ditch days", Patrick got a bottle of pills out of the bathroom. Shaking the bottle out, he crushed up the pills and arranged the resulting powder into lines. "It's kind of like coke, but, you know, less dangerous," he said. He turned to the girls. "Well? Do you want to try it?"

"I don't know," said Mary Lou. "I don't know how I feel about using your mom's medicine, I mean..."

"_Live _a little, Mary Lou!" said Eva. "You're such a square!" She was getting a bit annoyed with her these days because in her opinion, she could be a bit of a baby sometimes.

The other girl wrinkled her nose. "No. You two do what you want, I'm not doing it."

Eva shrugged. "More for me."

She had no idea what was in those pills, but she liked the rush it gave her. She was on the highest of highs, and it was _great. _"You're missing out, girl!" she said to Mary Lou.

"Whatever. I'm still not gonna do it."

This, too, became a habit for her. The highs were less and less intense, but she still liked how it made her feel. Soon, she discovered that she could get the same stuff on the streets, too. Over time, though, she started to notice some strange feelings. When she did it, she'd feel little bugs crawling under her skin. Sometimes, she'd feel like she was being watched. And once, she thought she heard police sirens, but after checking repeatedly, she found that there were no police cars in the vicinity.

Emma and Max noticed there was something just a little... _off _about their youngest daughter. She was secretive, spent a lot of time in her room, and sometimes, she wouldn't eat. They knew she'd been in a bit of a slump the previous year, and now this? But whenever they asked, they said she was fine. 

One day, they got called to her school, where the principal informed them that she had fifteen unexcused absences just two months into the school year. So when they got home, they decided to talk to her about it. "Eva, we're really worried about you," said Max.

She rolled her eyes. "Why?"

"You never tell us what you're up to, and we had to find out from your _principal _that you're cutting school."

"Well, it's none of your business what I do."

"Yes, it is," said Emma. She could feel herself getting angry, but she didn't want to lose her temper. "We're your parents. And honestly, we're very disappointed in you for skipping school. We know you're better than this."

"I know what I can and can't skip. It's _fine_." She narrowed her eyes at her parents. "Don't fucking control me."

"Eva Vandenburg, you cannot talk like that! Apologize to your mother!" snapped Max.

She rolled her eyes. "_Sorry, _Mama."

Emma took a breath, still determined not to lose her temper. "Go to your room. Now."

She got up from her chair. "_Fine_."

Emma watched as she stormed off, and it occurred to her. _I don't know who she is anymore._


	15. Chapter 15

It was September 1968. The Vandenburgs were in Stuttgart. The sun was shining, but the day was crisp and cold. Prior to this, Emma and Max had not seen Germany in almost twenty years. It had taken a lot to convince Emma to return to this country. It held too many memories, memories she wasn't keen on dredging up. Even now, being here, she was insistent on avoiding any reminders of her past. Max could relive old memories if that was what he wanted to do, but she would have no part in it.

This year was an important one for the family. The twins had graduated high school. In a way, this trip was their graduation present. Both of them were going to college far away, in California. This was a bittersweet fact for the parents, although they knew by now that the prospect of their children leaving was inevitable. And Max was just relieved that this rendered Isaac ineligible for the draft. The idea of his son going to fight and die in a country he hadn't previously heard of made him sick. "Call me unpatriotic or whatever, but my boys are going to college," he always said.

Rosa was engaged, and she and her fiance, Seymour, would marry after they graduated. Max and Emma both found it a bit confronting, but they were happy for her all the same. They saw that she was a far cry from the baby born in a displaced persons camp, part of a stateless people. She was a strong, ambitious young woman, even after teachers had attempted to curb these tendencies, and she wanted to be a professor.

Eva had been at a therapeutic boarding school for the last seven months. She remembered her downward spiral, how she'd routinely take money from her mother's purse, how her body started to deteriorate, how, by the time her parents had found her drug stash, it was almost too late. Still, she'd begged them not to send her away, revealing that she'd used speed before, but she'd been able to stop on her own that time, and she was _sure _she could now. And for six days, she managed to stay away from it. But on the seventh day, she couldn't take it anymore. The shaking, the vivid nightmares, the sweating. She gave into her intense cravings and reached into her drawer. That night, as the drug was starting to leave her system, she realized that this was far beyond her control. At first, she'd liked the lack of control, surrendering to this feeling. But now it scared her. So, standing in the doorway of her parents' bedroom, she admitted it, shakily. "I need help. Get me help."

And get her help they did. Now here she was, seven months later, living in a way she hadn't thought possible. The feeling of being here, in this country, was indescribable. Even if she hadn't been here, she felt anchored to it, in a strange way.

Max pointed out different landmarks from his life. "Ah, Steber Street," he said, pointing to the sign at the street corner. "When I was young, I used to go and fight here."

About ten minutes later, he stopped in front of what looked like an office building. The children exchanged confused glances. "What's _this_?" asked Junior.

"This here? There used to be a synagogue."

"What happened to it?"

"Kristallnacht. They burned it down."

The next stop was his old apartment building. It was crumbling now, and there were construction workers surrounding it. There was a sign in front of it saying that it was slated for demolition. His heart dropped. "I used to live here."

Rosa put a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Dad."

He felt some tears coming on, but he blinked them back. "It's alright."

He managed to convince the workers to let them go in, just for a little bit. "One at a time up the stairs," warned one of them. "And there's lots of dust, so be careful."

Sure enough, the air inside the building was full of dust and floating paint chips. The stairs were rickety. Everyone held the hems of their shirts over their mouths and noses to avoid breathing in the swirling particles. "_Jesus_," said Isaac. "How old is this building?"

"Two hundred years, maybe," was Maxi's response.

Max remembered being a little boy, running through the halls of this building. He and his mother were barely scraping by, so there were lots of things they couldn't afford, but nothing can limit the imagination of a child. One day, when he was five, he figured out how to make an empty bottle sound like a flute. They had little treats here and there, like a trip to the cinema, or a cheap lollipop. Small stuff, sure, but he appreciated it all the same.

"It's a shame they're tearing it down," said his mother.

"Yes, it is."

After a bit, he heard Junior's voice. "Papa? Oma?"

"Yes?"

"Can we leave now?"

"Yes. We can leave."

And they walked out of the building for the last time. 

"Mama," asked Junior, "do you think we could go to Nuremberg sometime and see where _you _lived?"

"No," was Emma's response.

"Why not?"

"I don't see the point in going to these places and saying, 'this is where I did this', 'this is where I did that'. If you ask me, it's a waste of time."

He nodded. He could tell his mother was avoiding something, though, even if he couldn't quite figure out what it was.

That night at dinner, Max decided to say what he'd been thinking about for a while. "I think while we're in the country, you kids ought to see Dachau."

The children looked up at their father and saw his grave expression. They knew how important this was for him, even if they could never really understand. "Okay, then. We'll go with you," said Maxi. She turned to her mother. "Mom, are you gonna go or...."

"No. I don't think I can do it." She looked down and gulped. Then, wanting to change the subject, she turned to her mother-in-law and asked, "So, Maxime, what's new with you?"

"Well," said the older woman, "I have a new boyfriend."

"_What_?" Now she had _everyone's _attention.

"His name's Thomas. We've been going out for a few months, but I'd been eyeing him for a while before that. His wife died a couple years ago. He's a good man, really." Then, all of a sudden, she got a little smirk on her face. "And a good lover, for somebody who hasn't touched a woman in so long."

Lots of laughter. Max nearly spat out his drink. "_Mama_!"

* * *

The family returned to the States, their trip having changed them. Germany had been their home, but it had so much pain attached to it. This was a country that had once ordered their deaths. Multiple times during the trip, Max had been hit with the realization that he was so, _so _lucky. Despite the circumstances, they were still here.

Rosa graduated and was married the following summer. The wedding was held in the woods near their house. Both bride and groom looked pretty happy. There were about thirty people in attendance. That night, because both parties had had a bit too much to drink at the reception, Max and Emma drove them home. They smiled as they watched the couple make their way inside.

A year later, Maxime and Thomas got married, as well. She hadn't thought she'd remarry. In her eyes, nobody would replace Erik. He was the father of her child, and that would never change. Sure, there had been a man she'd _almost _married, more than thirty years ago, but the circumstances had simply not allowed it. Now, she had allowed herself to hope again, and she was not disappointed.

Junior had managed to evade the draft, but after his freshman year of college, he expressed a desire to enlist. His parents were scared for him, of course. But he assured them that he would be alright. "I'll play it safe. I promise."

Both Max and Emma knew that there was no such thing as safety in war zones. They said goodbye to him before he was deployed, and before he left, Max slipped a coin into his hand. Junior looked at it. It was an old German mark, older than the Third Reich, even. "What's...."

"For luck." He hugged him. "I love you so much."

"I love you, too."

There was one child left at home now, Eva. She had gone through a pretty rough period in her life, but she seemed to be doing alright now. She was a pretty normal teenager. Going out with friends, dating. She went to senior prom with her friends, wearing a lacy pink dress her mother had made for her. "You look like a princess," said her father.

She giggled. "Thanks, Pop."

He smiled. "Have fun."

In the fall of 1971, she started at Johns Hopkins. Her parents drove her out to the campus to help her settle in, just as they'd done with all the other children. Her roommate was a girl with blonde, shoulder-length hair named Emily. Max and Emma struck up a conversation with this other girl's parents. They were from Philadelphia, and their daughter wanted to be a writer. "So does Eva," remarked Max.

Before they left, he told her, "I think you two will be good friends."

"Yeah, I think so, too."

He pointed to the Carole King record on the other side of the room. "You'll change her taste in music, too, I bet."

"Just watch. She'll be listening to the Stones by the end of the semester."

At home, Max looked at the empty house and sighed. He knew she'd be somewhat close by, but it still felt strange. He poured himself a cold drink and sat out on the porch.

"Hey, Max." Walter.

"Oh, hey, there, Walter. Want to sit?"

"Sure."

Walter joined him on the porch. "Since when did you drink whiskey?"

"Since I moved _here_."

He laughed. "Yeah, that'll do that to you."

"Want one?"

"Sure."

He got Walter a drink and came out with it. "We just dropped the youngest off at college today." He shook his head. "It's strange, being here by myself."

"You're what the Americans call an 'empty nester'." He smiled. "Welcome to the club."

"Not sure if I like it."

"You'll never be sure." He raised his glass. "To the empty nest."

He raised his glass in response. "_Prost._" The empty house would take some getting used to, but at least he'd had the fortune of watching his children grow up.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love writing about road trips.....
> 
> There are some lyrics from "Shine a Light" by the Rolling Stones, and "Sweet Home Alabama" by Lynyrd Skynyrd, because we gotta ~set the scene~ haha. Anyway, enjoy!

July 1975. Eva looked straight ahead as she sped down the freeway. She hadn't been in Sparrows Point in a while. Too many memories. But this was a family obligation, and besides, she had some amends to make over there.

Driving was always somewhat calming for her. It allowed her thoughts to wander. And today, going from New York City to Sparrows Point, she thought of how her parents had made this same drive nearly thirty years earlier. Did they drive on this same freeway? Did they see the same things rushing past them, every tree, every row of houses? She remembered that her mother had said once, "This country is so big. It surprises me every time." And only now, seeing all the open space, did she understand.

She drove by a sign that said, "Welcome to Pennsylvania- the Keystone State". And she remembered that summer night when she and a few friends went out for a drive, only to get hopelessly lost. They passed this same sign, and that was when it registered with her. "Um.... where the hell are we going?" she'd asked.

They ended up crashing for the night in New York. She spent the next several days stranded and high, trying to find her way back home. One day, she managed to find her grandmother's house, and she shimmied inside through an open window. Her grandmother found her in the basement, pacing the floor. She shook her head at the memory. That had only been a year ago. She'd been so different back then, doing whatever she could for her next high, even if it came at the expense of her family and her child. Whatever. It didn't matter. She was a new woman now.

"Oh, what happened to the music?" Paul's voice. It brought her back to the present.

She hadn't even been paying attention to what was on the radio. It was only once her fiance had pointed it out that she noticed the crackling static. "We can find another good station, don't worry."

"I know, but I liked that song." He chuckled a little, then reached for the dial. The station had now faded into talk radio, and neither party was keen on listening to that right now.

"May the good Lord shine a light on you/warm like the evening sun." She let the slow, steady rhythm of the song surround her. For some reason, that line always made her a little sad. It reminded her of the friends she'd lost over the years. Helmut, in particular. Meth takes its toll on the heart, heroin on the liver. His gave out just two months after his twenty-second birthday. She couldn't stand to go to the funeral, not just because it was her friend, but also because of the knowledge that it could have easily been _her _in the casket....

They crossed over into Maryland, _and_ bumper-to-bumper traffic. _Well, that's Fourth of July weekend for you, _she thought. It didn't bother her much. She could wait. The song on the radio changed. She smiled as she heard the familiar guitar riff. "Big wheels keep on turnin'/Carry me home to see my kin," she sang.

Paul laughed. This was her new favorite song, it seemed. Whenever it came on, she'd tell everyone, "Quiet, everybody, I love this song!" He just watched as she belted out the words. Then she got to the iconic chorus. 

"Sweet home Alabama! Where the skies are blue!"

He shook his head. "You're not even _from _Alabama, Eva." He addressed their daughter. "See, Melody? Your mama's silly. _Real _silly."

Eva smirked and leaned towards the mirror. "So's your daddy."

As much as she'd wanted to delay coming home, they'd pulled up in front of the house before she knew it. "Well, we're here."

* * *

Emma was the first to greet the three of them. She was glad to see her youngest daughter again for the first time in a few months. The last time they'd seen each other was when she was in rehab. Now she looked so much better. She seemed happy, for once. And it looked like she was taking pretty good care of little Melody. "How's my favorite granddaughter?" she cooed, picking the girl up. "_Wow_, you're getting big! Must be giving your mama a workout now!"

Eva and Paul laughed. Then, setting her down, she smiled and said, "I'm so glad you all could make it. Come in. Everybody's inside already." She addressed Eva. "I'm sure your father would like to see you, too."

She gulped. She _really _hadn't seen her father in a while. They used to be close, but her behavior over the years had driven a wedge in their relationship. She really had said and done some awful things. Would he ever forgive her? Would he believe that she'd changed? Or would she always be a drug addict to him? Walking into the house, she took a deep breath. _I have to do this. _

Max was in the kitchen when he saw them. He wasn't sure what to say to her. She'd put the family through so much over the last several years. Stealing, lying, running off, neglecting her daughter. He remembered standing in her apartment and threatening to throw out her drugs, and how she swore and threw things at him. "I fucking _paid _for that! Are you gonna give me back my hundred dollars?"

"No. If anybody gives you money, you'll just shoot it up your arms."

He had to fight to keep his cool that afternoon. _She's not herself right now, _he reminded himself. But the fact that she wasn't herself made it hurt _more_. She was a shell of who she once was. She'd been a happy, sociable girl midway through an English major and in the top two percent of her class, and now here she was, reduced to screaming and sobbing over _drugs_. 

Paul sensed that the two would need some time alone to talk, so he got himself a glass of iced tea and left the room. And that left both Eva and her father staring awkwardly at the floor. "Hey, Pop."

"Hi." He saw the engagement ring on her finger and pointed to it. "When did _this _happen?"

"A few weeks ago." She smiled a little.

She was the baby of the family. It was a little strange to think about her getting married. But he knew Paul, and that he was a good man. "Congratulations."

"Thanks." She sighed. "I think we might want to sit down somewhere."

He pulled up two chairs. "Is here fine?"

"Yeah, I guess." So they both sat. "I just wanted to say that.... I'm really, _really _sorry for what I've put you through. I know I did some really bad things over the years, to you, and Mama, and everybody else...." She shook her head at the memories. "You don't have to forgive me. I just... needed to say it."

He knew he was ashamed of her actions. And he knew he couldn't stay mad at her forever. "Look. Eva. You were in a bad place at the time. And while it doesn't excuse what you did, you really were suffering. And I feel like it took me too long to acknowledge that." He put a hand on her shoulder. "I forgive you."

"Thanks. It.... it means a lot."

He pulled her into a hug. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

"And I'm proud of you, really." They parted, and he cleared his throat. Then, looking out the window, he said, "Well, Junior's going to test out some fireworks soon. Want to come watch?"

"Sure."

So they got up and left. "So.... everything's good?" she asked as they walked outside.

"Yes. Everything's good." 


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hebrew probably isn't perfect, sorry. Feel free to correct me if you know it.

The "children" were professionals with families now, with jobs ranging from chemistry professor (Rosa) to film critic (Eva). None lived close by, save for Rosa, maybe, so for most of the year, Emma and Max had the house to themselves. They didn't mind this much. Their life together was peaceful. They were living out their dream of growing old together.

It was Emma's idea, to get everyone together for the first night of Passover. "I just miss having everyone around."

"I do, too," said Max.

A few days before everyone was to arrive, Max saw Walter. He just happened to walk by Walter's house, finding him sitting on the porch, chin in hand. "Hello, Walter."

He looked up and smiled a little. "Hello."

Max sat down next to him. "Is something wrong?"

"Not exactly, but...." He sighed. "My wife and I are getting a divorce."

He nodded. He knew that Walter had never really loved her. "Well, wouldn't you say it was about time?"

"I guess. She deserves to be happy. But we've gone through a lot together, so the idea of living without her is.... a bit strange."

After a bit, he said, "You know, Max, I never told you this, but sometimes, I'll go into Helmut's old room and look through his things. His old clothes, his schoolbooks...." He shook his head a little. "I know it's been more than three years, but I still miss my boy."

He put an arm around him. "Well, he's your son. Of course you do."

"I know." He looked down. "You know, I'm glad I have you to talk to. It's been so lonely these days, you know?"

He nodded. Walter cleared his throat. "Well, anyway, how's your family?"

"They're alright. Emma and I sort of missed having the kids around, so everybody's going to come out here in a few days."

"It's crazy how fast they grow up, huh? I can remember when they were babies."

"It _is._"

"The years just fly by, don't they?"

"Yes."

For a while, they sat together in silence. Max could tell Walter had something else on his mind, something he wasn't willing to talk about. Although what it was, he couldn't quite discern.

The growing family gathered at the house, the grandchildren fidgeting, bickering, laughing. Max always loved seeing his grandchildren. The oldest, Jacob, was seven now, and it looked like he'd gotten a lot taller. "Oh, would you stop growing?" he laughed.

He had a particular soft spot for Melody, having pretty much raised her for the first year of her life. Now she was four, and that particular day, she was eager to show him the little clip in her hair with a ladybug on it. "Mommy gave it to me! Isn't it pretty?"

"Yes, very." And as he looked at her, he realized she bore a striking resemblance to Maria.

Emma and Max eagerly listened to the siblings' updates on their lives. "Oh, by the way," said Rosa, "did you read Eva's review of _Coma_? It was hilarious!"

"I have not," said Emma.

She fished the copy of the magazine out of her purse and flipped to the review. "Here. Listen to this. 'I'm not sure what I expected when I went into this, but in short, this film was convoluted, melodramatic, and 113 minutes of my life I will never get back.'"

Some laughter. "Or, better yet: 'Leading lady Genevieve Bujold has all the acting skills of a brick wall.'"

Now _everyone _was laughing. Isaac turned to his youngest sister. "That bad, eh?"

"Yeah."

In the living room, Maxi asked to talk to her father about something. "What is it?"

She sighed. "Well.... I've been having some.... problems."

"Problems? Like what?"

"I.... I don't really.... _feel _anything for Joseph anymore. And come to think of it, I don't think I ever did."

He tried to think of what to say to her. "Well.... have you told him?"

"No. And I don't think I can. I mean, we have a kid. If we get a divorce, we can't just spring this on her."

He nodded. "Whatever you choose, Maxi, I'll be here to help."

She smiled. "Thanks, Dad." She looked down and scratched the back of her neck. "That's not all, though."

"Well, what's the other part?"

"I-" She swallowed hard, unsure if she should tell him. "I think I might be.... a lesbian?"

"There's nothing wrong with that, Maxi."

Well, _this _was surprising to hear from him. "Really?"

"Really." He put a hand on her shoulder. "I always told you I'd love you no matter what. And I do."

"Thanks." After a bit, she said, "Remember Trixie?"

"Yeah."

"When we were sixteen, we kissed. But after that, we just decided to act like it didn't happen." She sighed. "And then I met Joseph in college, and.... maybe I dated him because I was afraid, you know?"

This sounded a lot like Walter. He certainly didn't want her to spend almost forty years stuck in an unhappy marriage. "I know how it is, honey. And what you do next is your choice, but you deserve to live your life to the fullest, and I'm not sure if you're getting that with Joseph."

"I'll think about it. Thanks for the advice, Dad." She shifted a little. "Glad we can talk about these things."

"I am, too."

At the seder that night, Max and Eva recited the Ten Plagues, him in Hebrew, her in English. "_Choshech,"_ he read.

"Darkness," she translated. "Scary."

"_Makat b'chorot._"

"Death of the first born." She turned to the kids and grinned. "Watch out."

Melody sang the questions, her voice clear and sweet. Everybody had to agree, it was the cutest thing ever. "She has her grandmother's singing voice," remarked Max afterwards.

Later that evening, Max had put on some music, and everyone was just relaxing and enjoying the night. He and his wife sat on the couch, her head against his chest. She always loved these moments of theirs. Sure, quite a bit had changed over the years, but their ability to just enjoy each other's company hadn't.

Eva sat down next to them. For a while, she didn't say anything, just bobbed her head a little to the music. For some reason, it brought back memories, of summer nights with her friends, lying on the hood of a car. Those were simpler days.

After a bit, she cleared her throat and said, "You know, I've been thinking about writing a book."

Her mother turned her head. "Oh, you have? What about?"

"I want to write about the family history, and Jewish history as a whole, and....." This was the part she was nervous about, as she wasn't sure how they would react to this. "I wanted to write about what your lives were like during, you know, the war."

Emma gulped. She'd never liked to talk about that aspect of her life. "So, you were going to interview us?"

"If that's alright with you. I mean, I don't want to do that _here_, but maybe we can schedule a time?"

"Well, _I'm _fine with it," said Max. "What about you, Emma?"

She thought for a bit. She knew it would hurt her to talk about it, but perhaps she ought to. Just so she wouldn't be keeping it inside all the time. "Alright. I'll do it."

Eva gave her a hug. "Thank you so much, Mama."

She hugged her back. "You're very welcome, darling."


End file.
